


Explain Yourself

by Scruffy_Wolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Chef!Derek, Exasperated!Sheriff Stilinski, Hotel Work, Housekeeper!Stiles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:04:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruffy_Wolf/pseuds/Scruffy_Wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sheriff paced infront of his kitchen table where Stiles and the boy-he’d-just-found-defiling his-son sat; Stiles blushing beetroot and grinning like he couldn't help it; the other guy sitting on his hands with his eyes firmly trained on the floor.</p><p>“So as far as I was aware, you didn't bring anyone home for the holidays. Is there any chance you could you explain to me who this guy is?" he said, gesturing at the looming figure next to Stiles. He paused, "You didn’t hire a prostitute, did you?”</p><p>(Or where Sheriff Stilinski walks in on Stiles and Derek, then immediately regrets asking for an explanation.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Epic Tale Begins...

**Author's Note:**

> If there's any grammar or spelling problems please let me know.
> 
> Also Stiles is telling the story to his father, hopefully it should be fairly obvious when it switches between present day and the past, but every paragraph that is just a paragraph change is marked by a ~ symbol, while changes between present and past day are marked by a greek letter.
> 
> Warnings: Recreational drug use (marijuana).

The Sheriff paced infront of his kitchen table where Stiles and the boy-he’d-just-found-defiling his-son sat; Stiles blushing beetroot and grinning like he couldn't help it; the other guy sitting on his hands with his eyes firmly trained on the floor.

“So as far as I was aware, you didn't bring anyone home for the holidays. Is there any chance you could you explain to me who this guy is?" he said, gesturing at the looming figure next to Stiles. He paused, "You didn’t hire a prostitute, did you?”

“What?” Stiles asked, arms flailing. “Oh my god, Dad! No! Is that the only theory you could come up with? This is Derek, Derek is most definitely not a prostitute.”

Sheriff John Stilinski frowned at 'Derek', who was still staring down at the floor like the answer to the mystery of life was stuck on his linoleum; boy definitely wasn’t the word to describe him, man was more apt. He was maybe around Stiles height, but bigger, with more muscle on him than Stiles. Stiles was still blushing and his jaw seemed to be breaking out in one heck of a stubble rash. 

John looked desperately at his son and gestured a hand at Derek. “How old even is he?”

“Twenty-Nine,” Derek answered quickly as Stiles rolled his eyes.

“See Dad, he’s not even thirty!” Stiles said, as if that were any comfort. “I’m twenty-four now, I’ll have you know-”

“I know how old you are Stiles,” John interrupted. “Now please explain the how he got here and _why_ , 'cause I’m lost.”

“Fine, what, like all of it?”

John slumped down into the chair opposite them and reached for his whiskey, pouring himself an ounce before swallowing it in one. "Yes, Stiles, _‘All of it’_ ,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose,

“Well,” said Stiles, grinning, “Ours is an epic tale, one that spanned the ages...”

**α**

 

“So you’ve still not got a Head Chef?” Scott asked not looking up from his spot on the couch. Being short on work was not a good look on Scott, who had spent his entire day so far playing Halo, only moving for bathroom breaks.

Stiles shook his head. Stiles, being a housekeeper, usually didn’t care about what the kitchen was up to but after their last Head Chef had walked out without so much as a days notice, taking all but one of the kitchen staff with him, they had roped Stiles and anyone else with a little experience into helping out till they could restaff the place. 

“Nah man, it’s getting ridiculous, I don’t think I can do another 60 hour week,” Stiles said, shoving Scott to one side so he could check down the side of the couch for his keys.

Scott laughed, “Cry me a river. I _wish_ I had your probl- DIE, ALIEN SCUM!” Scott started mashing buttons frantically as the characters on the screen screamed for mercy. 

“Argent still cutting your hours?” Stiles asked sympathetically as he could manage, which wasn’t all that sympathetic considering he’d only slept for twelve hours so far that week. 

Scott had been working as a Sous Chef in ‘ _Argentum’_ (which the Argent family must’ve thought was frickin’ witty idea to name their hotel, but just seemed vain in Stiles opinion) and while they’d never particularly liked him when they found out that Scott was having sex with their daughter they’d made his life hell, getting him put onto pot-washing instead of cooking and cutting his hours as much as they could manage. 

Stiles wasn’t sure why they didn’t fire him and get it over with, but he knew the answer was either Allison, or they enjoyed torturing him. Stiles had met the Argents once; they were creepy ass people and the second option was pretty likely.

“Yeah, but I mean at least I get to see Allison,” Scott said. “Dude, your keys are hanging by the door.”

“Oh, right,” Stiles said, putting the couch cushions back down. Scott rolled his eyes. “What would I do without you?”

"Probably starve. Or get fired," Scott said, as Stiles ruffled his hair and grabbed his chefs whites from the table before rushing out the door. 

His and Scotts apartment was on the fourth floor of the building, and the elevator was singlehandedly the tinniest elevator Stiles had ever seen. It was maybe a foot wide by a foot and a half long and it just snuck in the middle of the stairwell. He tried not to use it if he could help it, once someone else had gotten in with him and he’d had to go all the way up to the 6th floor before he could get out.

Stiles flew down the stairs, rattling and crashing along his way which sent echoes around the building. He went skidding out of the door to find Lydia parked in her incredibly fancy car watching with an unamused expression. 

“Stiles,” she said, voice dripping with disapproval.

“I fell asleep and then I couldn’t find my keys,” Stiles answered, sliding into the other side of the car. “Do we have a Head Chef yet?”

“We might do, someone’s coming in for a test drive tomorrow, see how we get on.”

“Great, ‘cause I’m sick of the only chefs being me, Danny, Jackson and Boyd.” Stiles paused, then added; “most of us aren't even chefs!” 

Lydia breezed out of the car park, “Oh man up Stilinski, it’s October; the hotel’s not even busy. You’re not the only one pulling double shifts, without Jackson as a duty manager I’m having to cover evening shifts. I don’t _do_ evening shifts Stiles.’

“It’s the principal,” Stiles said huffily. “Is this new Head Chef hot?”

A small grin crept up on Lydia’s face. “You could say that.” 

 

**~**

 

At around 11pm Stiles slumped back into the apartment, exhausted, stripping off his whites jacket as soon as he was in the door. He hadn’t pulled so many shifts since he had been first out of college and attempting to work his way up the ranks of the kitchen, and his body just wasn’t used to it. 

There was a picture lying smashed on the floor next to Scott’s room and as Stiles crept further into the apartment he also found Scott’s jeans lying in a heap by the couch and Allison’s bra hanging off one of the kitchen cabinet door handles. 

Bipassing the discarded clothing, Stiles put the plastic container full of his dinner into the fridge, he’d eat it for lunch or Scott could have it, he wasn’t in the mood to eat anymore. He barely had enough energy to strip off his pants once he got into his room, before falling onto the bed with a ‘phoomf’ and crawling his way under the covers. 

It felt like he’d only blinked when his alarm was loudly going off loudly, half way across his room. 

He rolled over, pulling the duvet up over his head to ignore the loud rap music. Scott banged on the wall. Stiles ignored him, the walls may have been thin, but the bathroom seperated thier bedrooms so he couldn’t be that fussed. The music got louder. Scott banged again. Stiles continued to ignore him.

Finally Scott threw the door open to his room, wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants, turned off the alarm clock and wrenched Stiles duvet off of him.

“You gotta go to work man.”

“‘On’t wanna,” Stiles mumbled into his pillow, hugging his legs to his chest. 

“I’ll put on coffee for you but then I’m going back to bed, dude.”

Scott ducked out of the room and the cold finally got to Stiles. He swung his legs out of bed, and pushed the door closed, grabbing the duvet and throwing it onto the bed. He quickly got changed into his black work clothes, before stretching his back into place with a _click_.

He trudged out into the kichen/livingroom, it was a small place he and Scott shared and it had definitely been a one bedroom place before the landlord had converted a closet into Stiles bedroom. Scott got the big double, while Stiles took the single (he admitted, sadly, that Scott would have more use for the double bed) and they had a small, dingy, shared bathroom, where Scott had managed to break the shower head so now it wasn’t adjustable height wise. Their landlord was a dick who refused to fix it, or let them replace it, and while it was at a perfect height if someone like, say, Lydia needed a shower at their place, but Stiles and Scott were both over 5’10, and had to crouch to wash their hair.

It hadn’t been as bad since Stiles had stolen a bath seat from work, allowing them to shower sitting down, which also helped with showering hungover and/or tired.

Scott put a mug of coffee and a plate of toast down on the island countertop infront of Stiles, and slapped him on the shoulder.

“C’mon man, you’re off tomorrow,” he said sympathetically.

“Lucy fucked her ankle,” Stiles said solemnly, slumping down on the island countertop. “I’m helping her do her shift tomorrow.”

“Helping her?” Scott asked.

“Yeah, we can’t afford to give anyone a day off really,” Stiles paused to take a bite of toast. “Plus this way I can tell if she’s faking or shit and I’ve been working for 14 days straight; I need an easy day. “

Stiles lifted his head and gratefully gulped down his coffee, as Scott looked on at him with a concerned look. “You don’t need an easy day, you need a day off,’ Scott said finally.

“I’m fine dude. I used to pull 95 hours a week, this is nothing.”

“Yeah, but you were younger back then.’

“I’m only twenty-four dude, I’m still young,” Stiles said grumpily as he got to his feet and slung his rucksack over his shoulder. “Go enjoy your morning sex, I’d better go to work, oh and clean up that picture frame before I get home, someone’s gonna hurt themselves.”

Stiles headed out of the apartment, mug of coffee in hand as he rattled down the stairs.

As he pulled out of the car park he felt like he was slightly too tired to be driving, but unfotunatly there wasn't much of another option. He thankfully made it to work without incident, and without spilling the coffee balanced in his cup rest, and he was just signing in when Lydia accosted him. 

“Stiles, what’s your day like?”

“Hmmm?” He mumbled, his mouthful of the last gulp of coffee. He paused, making a big show of swallowing to wind up Lydia,  “I dunno, what day of the week is it?”

“Tuesday. All day.”

“Yeah, not busy, why?”

“You need to come to a meeting at 11 o’clock, all the heads are to meet with this new chef.”

Stiles sighed, “Fine, I don’t see why it matters what I think of him, but fine.”

“It matters, if he’s any good hopefully he’ll be working here for a while, and you’re first reserve for the kitchen.”

“Lydia, you have _got_ to stop putting me in the kitchen!” Stiles yelled, turning around to head up the stairs and get on with his day. “I’m _not_ a chef anymore! You hear that? Me. No. Likey. Cookey.”

He never bothered to wait for Lydia’s reply, as he headed into the laundry room.

 

**~**

 

Stiles was a damn good housekeeper so by the time 11 o’clock ran around he had almost finished for the day, with just one more room to clean and some napkins to iron.

He grabbed himself some of the leftover breakfast porridge, drenching it in sugar and milk, before dashing into the waiters store where the still of hot water was kept and making a quick cup of coffee. 

He balanced the bowl of porridge on top of his mug, and quickly weaved his way around the waiters who were trying to clear up breakfast, turning into the office.  

“Really Stiles?” Lydia sighed. “This is a _meeting_ , do you need to eat in here?

“I missed breakfast, one of my rooms demanded that I clean it when they’re walking their dog. Assholes.” Stiles muttered, plonking himself down on one of the spin-ey computer chairs.

The office was a relatively drab room, painfully needing a new coat of paint, new carpet, and someone to gut all the paperwork that was stashed on the shelves all around the room. Lydia, the manager, was sat at her computer chair, but spun facing the rest of the room. Paulina, the head receptionist, did not look happy to be pulled away from her desk, and had her eyes trained on the CCTV camera screen in the corner which showed the front doors and reception desk. 

Michael, the head waiter, was standing slumped against the filing cabinets, but with a warm smile on his face. Stiles didn’t know if he’d ever seen Michael without a smile, it was maybe why he was such a good waiter. That and he looked incredible in a shirt and tie.

“So,” Michael said. “What’s the meeting about? Why’ve we gotta meet with this guy?" 

“Well, we need to discuss what’s going to happen to Jackson and Danny, make sure you all get along, introduce you all that jazz.”

“‘E’s ‘ate!” Stiles mumbled through his porridge.

“It’s been a busy breakfast,” Lydia answered curtly as everyone else just looked confused that she could understand him. 

Just then the door to the office swung open and revealed a painfully familiar figure.

“‘Ereck, ‘Ale?” Stiles spluttered, porridge dribbling out of his mouth. 

Derek threw him a disgusted look. “Stiles... Uh, nice to see you again.”

Stiles turned beetroot red. 

Derek fricken’ Hale; who’d have guessed?

 

**~**

 

Stiles felt like he was going to pass out on his journey home, and had regretted not getting a nap at work. The car wobbled dangerously as he swerved slightly out of his lane but he made it home, dragging himself into the building and up in the tiny elevator, crashing through his front door before collapsing onto the couch, head slumping into Allison’s lap. 

Scott quickly prepared him some coffee, and Stiles toed off his sneakers. 

“So, you working tonight?” Scott asked, setting down two bowls of soup, and the cup of coffee on the table infront of Stiles and Allison, before settling down in the comfy secondhand armchair they owned. 

Stiles shook his head as best he could when it was buried in the pillow on top of Allison. 

“You’re off?”

Stiles nodded. Allison laughed.

“It’s not that bad Stiles, c’mon, sit up and get your soup,” she cooed to him. 

Stiles groaned and didn’t move.

“It’s your favourite,’ she tempted.

Stiles head poked up and he raised an eyebrow warily. “Beef, tomato and Pasta?”

“Yeah man, I made it for you since you’ve had such a shit week,” Scott said, gesturing the bowl on the table.

Stiles swung his legs around, sitting up and gratefully grabbing the steaming soup. He ate so fast and sloppily that Scott and Allison laughed at him, causing him to pause and glare, a move that would have been more effective if his chin hadn't been orange because of the soup. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” he said between bites. “I’ve had horrible news.” 

Scott laughed harder. “What’s happened man?”

“We have a new Head Chef.”

“And?” Allison asked. “Correct me if I’m wrong but that sounds like a good thing.”

“It’s Derek fricken’ Hale.” Stiles said finally, deciding that ‘Derek fricken’ Hale’ was the only way to refer to him. 

There was a moment of silence. “C’mon man, I know he was a bit of a dick, but it can’t be that bad, that was a long time ago.”

“I know, but then it’s... _Derek._ He’s not a bit of a dick, he’s like _king_ dick. _”_

Derek had actually never done anything to Stiles in particular, however he had screwed over Scott for a promotion, and so Stiles hated him on principal.

“Look, I’m not lining up to be best mates with the guy,” Scott said evenly. “But the _Lycan_ fiasco was years ago. I’m over it.”

“So I have your blessing to not hate him?” Stiles asked, before bringing up the bowl up to his mouth and drinking the last of the soup. “‘Cause I will hate him, y’know, if you want me to.”

Scott laughed. “Nah, make friends, bury the hatchet and all that jazz, it’ll be easier for you to work with him.”

Stiles drank down the last of his soup and ruffled Scotts hair as he bounced to his feet. “Enjoy your afternoon guys. I’m going for a shower. Maybe try and drown myself in there.”

 

**~**

 

The next day Stiles was just trying to help out the injured Lucy, who’s injury turned out to be a sack of crap really, so he’d left her to it and was organizing and refilling the housekeeping cupboards dotted around the hotel. 

He headed into the laundry room, arms piled full of towels and sheets, and dumped them into the laundry bag. He made a tally mark against what he’d put in the bag, then turned around to find Derek Hale standing in the corner of the room. Stiles jumped a mile into the air, arms flying out around him. He clattered down into the bag of dirty laundry and his head flopped down with a sigh.

“Is that not all the dirty sheets?” Derek asked, an amused edge to his voice.

Stiles leapt out of the laundry pile, before dusting off his ass. “Christ, so you’re still doing the lurker thing then?”

Derek looked down awkwardly. “Err, I just wanted to come and apologize to you. Well, not to you exactly, but more for what went down with me and Scott?”

“You mean how you screwed him over for the promotion?” Stiles snapped. 

“He wasn’t _ready,”_ Derek said, running a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah, like you were much better for Head Chef, you had no experience either!” Stiles said. “Look, it doesn’t matter. It was two years ago, Scott’s not mad at you anymore and I’m just glad we’ve got a new Head Chef so I can stop pulling kitchen shifts.”

Derek nodded stiffly at him. “Okay. So we’re good?”

“Ish,” Stiles said, but he smiled slightly. “Now I better get back to work, shoo, get out my laundry room.”

 

**~**

 

Stiles maintained that chefs were the most terrifying of all the hotel staff, even Scott had his moments when Stiles ate too much raw cake batter when they were baking.

And right now Stiles was face to face with one of the new chefs, caught half way through stealing food.

She had these golden blond curls which whisp-ed out of her hat and around her face, with these warm brown eyes and a giant smile that would have all looked beautiful, if it weren’t so god damn _predatory_.  

“Err... Hi?” Stiles waved with his empty hand, trying to keep the bowl of porridge behind his back. “I’m Stiles. Head Housekeeper.”

“Ohhh,” she said. Her grin was all teeth and it sent shivers down his spin. “Where’s your apron then?” She reached across the counter and touched his shoulder, then her hand trailed slowly down his chest.

“Erica, stop messing with Stiles,” he heard someone yell from the other end of the kitchen.

The girl - Erica, he assumed - let out a laugh, leaning back. “You’re no fun.”

“He’s like a minute from pissing himself on the kitchen floor,” he heard Derek say as he sauntered into the kitchen. “I’m not gonna clean it up.”

“Am not,” Stiles grumbled, silently thankful for Derek’s intervention. 

Erica turned back to him with _that_ grin. Stiles gulped.

Erica threw her head back and cackled. “Well, this is fun. I’m Erica. So you’re a _male_ housekeeper? Unusual.”

“Yeah, well at least last time I checked,” Stiles said, trying not to let her get to him. Derek frowned at him, before heading to the kitchen corner where there was piles of paperwork sitting.

Erica laughed again, a little bit more genuine this time. “I like this one,” she said, turning around to see Derek, and pointing at Stiles. Derek briefly looked up from the paperwork he was reading, before ignoring them both without a word.

“Does that mean you’re gonna put aside food for me?” Stiles asked, deciding to chance his luck. 

“Maybe not that much,” Erica said, smile still splayed on her face. “Now get out of my kitchen before I change my opinion of you.” 

Stiles saluted her, before scurrying out, trying to hide the bowl of porridge he’d stolen as best he could. He didn’t know if it worked or if Erica just decided she hadn’t cared.

His next stop was the office. Lydia was sat doing some sort of complicated looking forms on the computer. He dumped himself down unceremoniously on the computer chair.  

“Do not bother me Stilinski. I have three new members of staff and hence a lot of paperwork to do for them all,’ Lydia snapped, without turning around. 

Stiles held his hands up, “I’m just here to eat breakfast, Lyds.”

“Funny how you always find time to disrupt my day, isn’t it? We should give you more work, you never seem to have enough.”

“I get just as much work as everyone else, I’m just _better_ than them,” Stiles retorted, as he pushed himself spinning on the chair. “This is meant to be my day off anyway.”

“You’re a distraction, Stiles.”

“An awesome one,” Stiles muttered, wolfing down his porridge.

He stayed quiet finished his porridge, before he pushed his chair over to Lydia’s desk and picked up the top piece of paper on her ‘to-do’ pile.

It was the dinner menu, still handwritten from the chefs, and the writing was some of the prettiest handwriting Stiles had ever seen.

“Who’s writing this? Erica?”

“No, that’s Chef Hale’s writing,” Lydia answered, still not looking up from her work.

Stiles flailed. “This is _Derek’s_ handwriting? You mean the chef who looks like he should be modeling in a prison line up?”

Stiles heard the door of the office swing open, and winced.

“Rude.”

He took a deep breath. “Hey Derek,” he got to his feet quickly, spinning around at the same time. He practically landed on top of Derek though, who was decidedly closer than he had guessed, causing the mugs of coffee he had been holding to go flying. Mainly over Stiles.  

“Oh shit, Sorry!” he said, flailing as the burning started to kick in. He was soaked through with coffee and it was burning his chest. “Shitshitshit.”

“ _Stiles_!” Lydia yelled, with an exasperated edge to her voice creeping in. She may have been tiny, yes, but she was easily just as frightening as Chef Hale. 

And Stiles was stuck in between the two of them while they were both angry at him. Fuck.

“Stiles, that was _my_ coffee!” Lydia yelled as Stiles danced slightly trying to stop his top from touching his skin.

“Yes, yes it was, and it was nice and hot. Good coffee making skills there, Derek!"

Derek was not amused. He also had coffee spilled down himself but didn’t seemed to be as affected by it as Stiles was, it must’ve been the chefs whites, they were made to be protective, right?

“Right, can I make you two another cup of coffee?” He offered meekly making a grab for the now empty mugs which Derek just pulled further out of his way. Christ, they were going to murder him in his sleep. 

“Leave," Derek barked at him.

Stiles took the exit, flying out into the hallway to see Erica laughing at him from the kitchen hatch.

“Fuck off,” he said to her. She laughed harder.

“Sorry Stiles, you realize we could hear almost everything you said in that office? The door was open and you’re pretty damn loud.”

“May I repeat myself? Fuck. Off. Erica.” Stiles said, sighing.

“Can II make it up to you with some fries?”

“Maybe,” Stiles said stubbornly.

Erica rolled her eyes, and sauntered over to the deep fat friers. She pulled out a fresh portion of curly fries, shook off the excess oil and plated them up, dropping them under the hot-lights.

Stiles smiled goofily at her, before dashing to the waiters store and emerging with a bottle of tomato ketchup.

“You not got any work to do?” he asked, before grabbing a handful of the curly fries.

“Nah, waiting on lunch kicking off.” She answered. “You almost finished?”

“Yeah, just wait-”

 _“Stiles!_ ”

Stiles turned pale and Erica jumped to her feet as Chef Hale came stomping through into the kitchen.

“Yeah, Derek?” Stiles asked from the other side of the kitchen hatch. He was still in the hallways where the waiters picked up the food, and for that he was glad because Hale had the look of ‘MURDER’ in his eyes.

Stiles must’ve said so much out loud, because Hale barked at Erica to get back to work and then pulled the platter of chips away from Stiles as he tried to cram as many curly fries into his mouth as possible. 

“No,” Derek snapped, bending through the hatch. “You are not allowed to sweet talk the kitchen into giving you food anymore, it’s only a matter of time before others start asking.”

Stiles pouted at the chef. 

“No,” Derek repeated, before turning on his heel and stalking out the kitchen. Erica gave him a small grin from the hotplate and shrugged, like a ‘what can you do?’ kinda say. 

Stiles solemnly headed back up the stairs to the main hotel and got on with his day. Stupid Hale taking away his french fries.

 

**~**

 

After Stiles' shift finished he hurried down the stairs and was almost home free when Derek cornered him. “Aw man, what now?” he whined.

“Lydia was saying Scott’s in town.”

“Yeah, I mean, so?”

Derek stared at him. 

“Ohhhhhh, you want to _hire_ him?” Stiles laughed. “After _Lupin_ you want to hire Scott?”

“I need a Sous Chef.” Derek answered. “I’m assuming you both are fairly settled here. Most Sous Chef applicants I would get if I put up a job ad would be in and out in six months, I want _stability_ for my kitchen.”

“Didn’t you bring two chefs here with you?” Stiles asked. “Erica and....” 

“Isaac. Yes, and with Boyd that gives us four chefs in total, I need five, and I need a Second in Command. Would Scott be interested?”

“I dunno,” Stiles scratched his chin. “Scott’s pretty attached to the Argent’s, and he wouldn't want to be a competitor of Allison's,” Stiles said as he scrabbled for his keys. “I mean he’s still trying to get her parents to like him. I said that ship sailed the day her mom almost killed him.”

Derek nodded, ignoring the comment about attempted homicide . “What’s his position over there? Chef de partie?”

Stiles winced. “Don’t laugh.”

“What? Is he a Kitchen Boy _?”_

 _“_ Pot wash,” Stiles said, grimacing.

Derek’s face spasmed. “Pot Wash? Scott McCall is a KP?”

“He got demoted for stooping Allison,” Stiles interjected. 

“I’ve got to fix this,” Derek muttered, before stalking away, most likely to murder puppies or something of the sort.

Well, that couldn’t be good.

 

**~**


	2. Our Damsel in Distress is in Need of Rescuing

 John tossed back another shot of whiskey and sighed. Stiles, meanwhile, looked elated, eyes bright and arms flying as the story raced out his mouth.

 **“** When I asked you to explain who Derek was, I didn’t mean you have to tell me every detail of your life for the last three months,” he sighed.

Stiles rolled his eyes, “You can’t stop me _now_ , I’m getting into this! You’re always complaining that I don’t tell you enough about my life.”

John looked over to see Derek looking slightly embarrassed, but he had his hand wrapped tightly around Stiles’, and was stroking his thumb over Stiles skin fondly. 

At least he seemed to care about his son.

“You want a drink, Derek?” asked John, getting up to his feet and heading towards the fridge.

“Uh,” Derek said.

“Yeah, Dad, me too,” Stiles butted in. 

With a sigh John set down three beers on the kitchen table. “So, Derek had said he just wanted to hire Scott or something?” John asked.

Stiles spluttered out his beer, grinning enthusiastically. “Oh yeah! So, as I was saying, Scott and Allison were boinking again-”

  

**β**

 

Stiles slumped into his flat, and was hit by the overwhelming reek of sex. Fuck, even the windows were steamed up, although he guessed the living room window was broken so there wasn’t much they could do about that.

“You two are _animals,_ ” he yelled, into the flat huffily. “Animals!”

He dropped hung up his coat as Allison and Scott tumbled out of his room; Allison fully dressed, while Scott behind her was still in his pajama bottoms. 

“What are you yelling about, Stiles?” she asked with a smirk. 

“Nothing, I dunno, it doesn’t matter,” he grumbled, as he went and turned on the kettle in the kitchen, before opening up the fridge door to hunt for lunch

He heard the sound of kissing behind him and sighed, “Really? Guys, not cool.” 

Scott laughed, and he was sure he could _hear_ Allison roll her eyes. 

“I’ll see you tonight, babe,” she said to Scott with a quick kiss, before yelling slightly louder; “Bye Stiles!”

“Oh no,” Stiles started as she headed out of the apartment, “You two are not staying here having loud sex again! I’m _tired,_ it’s Saturday tomorrow. Saturday’s are always hellish!”

The door slammed and Stiles turned to plead with Scott.

“Please, _please,_ go stay at hers.”

“She lives with her parents, Stiles.”

“So climb in her window! It’d be romantic, like high school!”

“I’m not climbing in her window, Stiles.”

Stiles mouth gaped open as his brain slowed down to much to come up with another reason. “I’m going for a shower,” he finally settled on.

He stalked through to the bathroom, dragging his rucksack along with him. He unloaded the clean towels onto the shelves, struggled out of his sweaty work clothes, then switched on the shower.

He took a while in the shower, setting up the bath-seat so he didn’t need to stand and leaving Allison’s fancy conditioner in to sit for a while as he just let the warm water pour over his chest.

Eventually he washed the goop out of his hair, turned off the shower and tucked a towel around his waist carrying a bottle of moisturizer.

“Dude,” Scott said, raising an eyebrow. “I get that it’s been a while, but you don’t need to be that blatant.”

“Oh hardy har har,” Stiles said, slumping down onto the couch. “My skin dries out, okay? It’s a job hazard.”

“Can you not do that in the bathroom?” Scott asked.

“Dude, I need to inquire about some moles.”

“Fine then,” Scott sighed. “Anyway, Chris was on my case about my hair _again._ I dunno what I’m supposed to do about it anymore! He just keeps saying it looks unprofessional but I’m out in the front of house maybe once a month, so I don’t know why it even matters!”

Stiles smirked and then made a buzzing sound and mimed shaving off his hair, before getting back to examining his leg.

“Nope. No way,” Scott said.

Stiles paused. “This one on the back of my knee, old or new?”

“Old,” Scott said immediately.

Stiles, satisfied with Scott’s answer, shrugged, and started moving his way back up his leg. “It’s not that bad, when my hair was buzzed I really liked it, it never got in the way or anything.”

Stiles, when he had become a housekeeper more permanently, had grown out his hair to an inch or two, with it short on the back and sides, slightly longer on top. Lydia had told him when he was hired that he had to look the exact _opposite_ of threatening, incase guests interrupted him while he was cleaning their rooms. This meant no more buzz cuts and Lydia made sure his uniforms were ordered a size too big, so that he looked even smaller and skinnier.  

Scott looked at him panicked, clutching at his head. “I don’t wanna loose my hair. Allison likes it!”

“Firstly: ew.” Stiles sighed, before putting out his arms and tried to see the underneath. “And second: well, you’re gonna have to do something about it. Also make me dinner tonight.”

“God, what did your last slave die of?” Scott asked.

“Not getting me my dinner fast enough. This one,” Stiles pointed at a particularly oddly shaped mole on the back of his arm. “New or old?”

“Old, you freak about that one every time we do this. Now do you want me to check your back or what?”

 

  **~**

 

Stiles wandered around the downstairs staff areas of the hotel. He poked his head into the kitchen, scanning to make sure the coast was clear of Derek.

“Morning there,” he said, spotting the remaining new chef that Stiles hadn’t met. “I’m Stiles, head housekeeper, you must be Isaac, right? Any chance of some breakfast?”

Isaac frowned. “Derek said I’m not supposed to give out food to the staff.”

“Pft, Derek’s a big softy really, he won’t mind,” Stiles said smiling widely at Isaac. Isaac rolled his eyes and snorted at him. 

Then Stiles was clipped around the back of the head. Hard.

“ _Stiles._ Stop mooching, you’re worse than a dog,” Derek scolded, stalking past him. 

“I’ll stop mooching when you stop feeding me _this_ ,” Stiles said, holding up the bowl of mushy porridge to Derek, he could hear Isaac break down into tears of laughter. “Like I’m pretty sure I could tip this upside down and it’s so congealed it would just stay.”

Isaac laughed slightly, as Derek shot him an exasperated look. “Please don’t.”

Derek disappeared behind some of the ovens to the back of the kitchen. 

“I’m Isaac, by the way. Derek’s roommate,” Isaac offered

Stiles nodded, looking Isaac up and down, he was tall, taller than Stiles, and slender built, with curly hair and these giant eyes that made Stiles want to pile blankets over him and hide him away from the sadness in the world. 

“What’s it like, living with a grump like Derek?” Stiles said, as Derek re-appeared around the corner holding a plate with a bacon sandwich.

“Don’t make me regret this,” Derek growled, before waving his hand. “Both of you, scram. Get your breakfast.”

Stiles flew from the kitchen with a grin on his face, followed slowly by Isaac as he pieced together a fry up from the left over breakfast food. As they headed outside and sat outside at alcove of the hotel’s backdoor, Stiles vaguely wondered when Derek became less of an asshole. 

The backdoor of the hotel and the staff area’s were such a stark contract to the guest areas, all paint peeling but functional, instead of the grand prettiness they presented to the customers. Isaac plonked himself down on the old garden chair, which wobbled dangerously under his weight as Stiles gingerly sat down in the other seat. Isaac was obviously new, as any of the older staff knew the garden furniture left for staff had a tendency to break if you weren’t careful.

“So we need a sous chef. I mean at the moment I’m pretty much acting as sous chef, but I’m not really experienced enough,” Isaac said, between mouthfuls of food. “Derek said he’s trying to recruit your friend... Scott?”

“Yeah, Scott, he’s a chef by trade, he’s been out of the game for a little while though.”

“Do you recon he’d wanna work here? We could probably use someone with the experience. Boyd’s never been properly trained much past getting through the shifts he’s on, Erica’s pretty damn new as well, but Derek wants to make this place _better_ and for that he needs to get us better. He can’t do that a chef down.”

Stiles paused. He knew why Derek wanted Scott, Scott would be good for them, stable, experienced, and heck, they may not trust each other much but that would grow. Derek needed someone on his team who knew what they were doing, who could have his back.

“I dunno man,” Stiles said finally. “I mean, Scott... He’s a chef at heart, but what with the long hours you get in the kitchen I think he’s just holding out for a chef job over at Argents so that he can still see Allison.”

“Is that going to happen?” Isaac asked, tilting his head to the side.

Stiles barked out a laugh. “Ha, the day he get’s promoted over at that place I’ll eat my hat. Like seriously that’s a wager I’m willing to make. Allison’s parents are barely decent enough to not let him suffocate to death when he had an asthma attack, never mind _promote_ him.”

Isaac nodded, before stuffing half a sausage into his mouth. “’d bett’r go,” he mumbled, mouth full, while hopping to his feet.

Stiles leaned back in his seat, sighing, praying for his shift to be over quickly. 

**~**

 

Stiles opened the door to his apartment and called out a cheery; “Honey, I’m _home!”_

Scott, who was sitting at the island countertop, gave him a weak grin as Stiles headed into the kitchen and opened up the fridge. He grabbed a drink of milk and was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he noticed Scott hadn’t moved at all since Stiles had come in, and was staring at the phone in his hand like it had fallen from the sky.

“Dude, y’all right? No one’s died have they?” Stiles asked, shutting the fridge door.

“No,” Scott said, shaking his head. “No, no one’s died. I, uh, I just got off the phone with Derek Hale.”

“And?” Stiles asked, wiggling his eyebrows with a grin on his face.

“And? You _knew?”_ Scott yelled indignantly, before punching Stiles in the arm.

“Ow! Dude, watch it, I’m fragile!”

“Whatever, that’s for not giving me a heads up! It’ll serve you right if you bruise.”

Stiles glared at Scott and rubbed his arm. “So, what was Derek wanting to talk about? Just how josh darn cute I am?”

Scott rolled his eyes, “He offered me a job; sous chef, and I’m judging from how unsurprised you seem you _knew_ he was going to offer it to me!” Scott punched him again, “ _Dude_ , c’mon!”

“What?! I’ve been busy!” Stiles argued. “So? What’s the plan? Are you gonna take it?”

“I, uh,” Scott paused, pained. He leaned back against the kitchen counter and dragged a hand through his hair. “I dunno, I mean, the job itself sounds awesome, and I’d be working with you again so I could put up working with _Derek,”_ Scott spat his name out like a curse word. “But...”

“Allison,” Stiles answered with a sigh, shoulders slumping. 

“Yeah,” Scott said.

They stood, shoulder to shoulder for a while, staring at nothing in particular, until Stiles phone started loudly playing ‘ _man eater’_.

“Lydia,” he said to Scott, before picking up the phone. “Yo, Lyds, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Stiles,” she said sharply. “The laundry company were just on the phone-”

Stiles cut her off with a groan, “Don’t listen to them, they are dirty liars.”

“They’re saying you never did the Inventory they were asking for,” Lydia said. 

“Dirty liars, Lyds. Filthy really, like worse than that porno where-”

“Fix it Stiles,” Lydia snapped. “I don’t care who’s fault it is, but if they’ve not got a stock take in by tomorrow there’s gonna be financial repercussions for us.”

“It’s my day off!” Stiles whined.

“I don’t care, that’s not my problem, my problem is keeping us on budget and making sure none of the companies refuse to work with us anymore. Either you can come in this afternoon, or I’ll see you tomorrow at 7 am prompt,” she said and the line went dead.

Stiles head thumped back against the kitchen cupboard and he let out a long groan of frustration, as Scott patted him consolingly on the shoulder.

 

**~**

 

Stiles ranted to the empty car as he drove to work. It was Sunday, the day of rest, and more importantly, it was _Stiles day off._ Not only a day off, but his first one in way too long.  

Doing an inventory of the sheets and towels in the hotel was more difficult than it sounded, because the housekeepers had this habit of squirreling away sheets and towels in their own hide-ey holes. There was the one main laundry room where they kept the bulk of their stock, as well as all the dirty laundry which had to be sent away for cleaning, then there was four big cupboards around the hotel which were stocked with approximately 20 of each sheet and towel type. _Then_ there was the various chest of drawers, seats, backs of book shelfs and other nooks and crannies all over where housekeepers would leave clean sheets for an emergency. 

Needless to say, it was not Stiles favourite job ever, still, he was aiming to have the worlds shitest treasure hunt finished by around eight o’clock, steal some breakfast when Chef Hale wasn’t looking then get back home by nine to take a nap, maybe even go out running if he wasn’t tired. 

When he got in however, and poked his head into the kitchens to say hello, what greeted him was bedlam to say the least. 

Head Chef Hale was looking frantic. The fact that Derek was in at all at this time of day was incredible, as generally head chefs didn’t have to do breakfast shifts, it was their reward for the hard work they’d put in over the years, and if you had the option to write the Rota, would you put yourself on the 6:30am shift?.

Secondly, it was only Derek in the kitchen, and Stiles knew that there was meant to be at least two chefs in by this time of day. 

“Good Christ, who died?”

Hale didn’t seem to be able to stop long enough to glare at him, so he kept moving, staring at Stiles and ended up dropping a plate of tomatoes on the floor. He then gave Stiles a pained look that seemed to say - ‘ _Now look what you did_!”

Stiles cursed, before grabbing an apron off the countertop. “Right, have you got the bacon on?”

“I don’t need help Stiles!” Hale snarled at him.

“Yeah, you do,” Stiles said firmly. He had seen breakfast set up enough that he could check it. Hale was only half set up and checks were going to start up soon. “I’ll get the bacon, you get the scrambled, ignore the tomatoes we’ll do them to order.”

“We?” Hale asked incredulously. 

“Yes, _we._ You can’t do it by yourself, not set up like this.”

“You don’t do breakfast shifts Stiles,” Hale said, 

“Let’s test that theory, shall we?”

They worked silently, butting heads and shoulders when they got in each others way. The only time they spoke was when Stiles was asking about where food was, which was usually met with a glare and an ‘ _I can do this, go do your own job.”_ from Chef Hale, which Stiles ignored, because heck, Derek wasn’t his boss, and he needed someone to stand up to him apparently.

As soon as the clock struck 7:30am the checks started to hit them, but they’d managed to get everything surprisingly well set up which was half the battle. 

“Right, then if we’ve got a minute I’m getting a cuppa coffee, you want anything?

“Coffee, black, hot water, two ice cubes,” Derek said.

“Ice cubes?”

The ‘I’m gonna murder you in your sleep’ stare was back, so Stiles rolled his eyes and ducked out of the kitchen to make up the tea and coffee. By the time he got back checks were starting to be called away.

“Christ it’s hot in here,” Stiles said, while waiting infront of the grill as Hale started to plate up food underneath the hot lights.

“It’s a kitchen.”

“Yeah, I know, I worked in here before you did. What’s happened to the fans?”

“The fans are broke,” Hale admitted. “Everything in this kitchen is breaking, but I’ve not got enough cash to get it fixed. Even the fridge doors’s doing this thing where it won’t open from the inside anymore.”

“That sounds...” Stiles frowned. “Dangerous.”

“Yeah, we have to make sure we leave it open when we’re on the inside so we don’t get stuck,” Derek said, putting the last garnish on the plate and wiping away a smear of sauce. “HOT FOOD.”

“I feel like you’re starting to like me,” Stiles said with a smile. "You've not glared at me in like five minutes. It's a record."

Derek only rolled his eyes in responce.

Service came and went with a bang, Waiters stopping and trying to ask questions about the unusual duo in the kitchen after Hale started to make the plates _extra_ hot for those who did.

“So,” Stiles said, after the last check was sent. “What the hell happened this morning? I thought it was Boyd and Erica?”

Hale took a deep huff in. “Boyd and Erica went for dinner at a seafood restaurant, they’ve got food poisoning. I’m still a sous chef down and Isaac wouldn’t pick up the phone.”

“Dude, I don’t know if Lydia told you, but I’m your reserve staff, you can call me if you need me.”

Derek frowned, “You’re still a housekeeper though, I knew you’d either be on a shift or on a rare day off. What I need is Scott.”

“What is your obsession with Scott? Find a different sous chef, it’s a competitive job market out there.”

Hale picked up his mug and swigged the tea which must’ve been stone cold, and he grimaced. 

Stiles paused, “Remember, if you need a backup chef I can pull a few evenings for you. Not breakfasts, because you’re right, I’m working six days out of seven. This was a one off, and now I’m gonna have to bid you adieu ‘cause I’ve got a stock take today.”

He pulled off his apron and saluted Derek as he spun from the kitchen. When he got home he would have to talk to Scott about that job.

Stiles managed the stock take in forty-five minutes, and was almost out the door when Chef Hale cornered him on his way out.

Stiles let out a whine as the looming figure backed him into a wall.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” Stiles said, raising his eyebrows.

Derek ignored the flirting, “Your number.”

“What?”

“Your phone number, incase of kitchen emergencies,” Hale elaborated.

Stiles promptly produced his phone and swapped info with the chef, putting his name into Hale’s with a smiley face on the end. 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” said Stiles, ducking out from underneath Derek’s arm and rushing out of the door. 

He fell into his jeep, throwing his rucksack into the back seat. He was buzzing, every part of himself humming with energy and _life._ He sped home, probably to fast, finally parking quickly and thundering up the stairs

He was barely in the apartment long enough to say hi to Scott, pulling off his trousers and on his running clothes, GPS watch, then was out the door and down the stairs like a flash.

He’s started running when he’d been in college and started to put on the freshman fifteen, it’d helped take the edge off, especially after he’d started kitchen work, and found himself buzzing around, full of energy after the dinner shift would end and in no mood to sleep, even with the prospect of an early morning shift looming over him. 

So he ran, he ran _fast,_ then would return home and collapse onto his bed, barely able to strip out of his clothes, never mind shower, and would fall almost instantly asleep.

After a shift Scott used sex to switch off. Occasionally a beer. 

 

~

 

Stiles got a lift in with Lydia the next morning, needing to come in half an hour early to sort out a delivery for the day, so after finishing his rooms promptly Stiles went thundering down the back stairs and headed into the office.

“Lyd’s, you going soon?

“Sorry, Stilinski, I forgot I was meant to take you home.” She said, spinning around at her desk. “Jackson’s not gonna be in till later so I’m covering for him.”

“But it’s _raining,_ ” Stiles whined, looking out the window at the miserable weather.

“I sorted a lift for you, Hale’s gonna take you home,” Lydia said, before laughing softly at him. “Smile Stiles, no need to say thanks or anything.”

“You mean you got me a lift with the guy who wants to kill me?”

“He doesn’t want to kill you.” Lydia said, before spinning back to her screen with a flip of her hair; effectively ending the conversation.

“I’m like 90% sure the guy’s gonna slit my throat in my sleep,” Stiles moaned, tugging a hand through his hair. 

“He’s behind you, Stiles” Lydia said, still staring at the computer screen.

Stiles jumped and an involuntary squeal leapt from his mouth as he turned to find himself face to face with Chef Hale. How could he be so goddamn _quiet?_

“For the love of god,” Derek muttered under his breath. “Stiles, get a move on before I change my mind.”

Hale stalked off, before pausing and turning to ask if Stiles was coming or not. Stiles hurried out behind him picking up a sandwich which had been left by Boyd on one of the shelves by the door. 

“Don’t get crumbs in my car,” Derek ordered.

“Aye Aye Captain,” Stiles said, fake saluting. 

“Don’t do that.” Hale said as he rounded onto the black shiny camero. Stupid head chefs and their ridiculous pay, Stiles made a fair bit of money being head housekeeper but it was obviously no where near the head-chef bracket.

As they piled into the car, Stiles realized he didn’t think he’d ever seen Hale out of his chefs whites.

And _damn_ , did being out of his chefs whites suit him. He shrugged off his black leather jacket a flexing his muscles that popped out of the tight t-shirt.

Stiles shook his head to wake himself out of the daydream as the car pulled out of the driveway.

“So where do you live?” Derek asked.

“The apartment block next to the old fire station, you know it?”

“Yeah, I know it,” Derek said, pulling the car smoothly into reverse and out onto the main street.

His knuckles were stinging, so Stiles nodded as he rummaged through his rucksack and pulled out a bottle of moisturizer.

“What’s that?” Hale asked as the smell of baby lotion filled the car.

“The cleaning chemicals dry out my hands and crack my skin, okay?” Stiles said as he tried to rub the moisturizer into his elbows. He’d squirted to much. “You want some of this?”

“No.”

Stiles reached over and wiped some off on the chef’s cheek, causing Derek to swerve the car and let out a stream of curses at him.

“ _GOD’S SAKE_ , are you trying to kill us?”

“I had to much, my hands were all slippery,” Stiles pouted, before rubbing his own hands into his face.

The car was uncomfortably silent, which lead Stiles to start to fidget, his fingers drumming on the dash top. He saw Derek’s knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, so to settle his nerves he reached over and turned on the radio. Pop blared out; it took a minute but Stiles recognized it as being ‘Material Girl’

He turned to Derek who was clenching his jaw so hard that Stiles thought he must be in danger of cracking his teeth. 

“Madonna. Really?” Stiles said, cocking an eyebrow.

Hale didn’t answer, so Stiles turned it up louder and started to sing along.

“We are _living_ , in a Material world and I am a Material girl! It’s been years since I listened to Madonna.

There was no answer, so Stiles continued to hum along to the radio. Stiles wasn’t sure, but he could’ve swore Hale was smiling as they pulled into the buildings car park. 

“Thanks for the lift, I’ll see you later,” Stiles said, before swinging himself out of the car and waving as Hale drove off. 

He trudged up the stairs glad to finally be home, it had been a busy day. Then when he opened the front door he heard tell tale squealing sounds.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Scott, you _know_ what time I finish at!” Stiles yelled, entering the flat anyway with one hand over his eyes. He dropped his keys in the key bowl as he heard Allison and Scott scurry through to their room.

“Do you _ever_ go to work?” He asked after he heard Scott’s room door shut. 

There was no response.

Stiles sighed, before stripping off his t-shirt, socks and trousers, throwing them at the washing machine as he padded to the bathroom. 

Later, when the three of them were having dinner (Scott or Stiles cooked, Allison did dishes), Stiles decided that it would be the time to bring up Scott’s job offer. 

“All I’m saying, Allison, is that your parents definatly-”

“They do not want to kill Scott.” She said.

“At least grievous bodily harm,” Stiles conceded. “But if he were to come work with me then he’d be a chef! Whose boss didn’t want to kill him. Probably. Maybe. Derek’s pretty difficult to get a read on.”

Allison’s face scrunched up in confusion, “Derek as in Derek Hale? How do you guys know him?

“This isn’t a conversation for all three of us, Stiles,” Scott said firmly. “This is something I need to think about.”

“Scott, what’s this about?” Allison asked

Stiles suddenly became very interested in his bowl of stew.

“Nothing, look, I’ll talk about it later, okay?” Scott said. Allison opened her mouth but then seemed to change her mind and shut it again, returning to prodding her carrots. 

Stiles broke the silence. “So, I’m thinking, are you guys off tomorrow night? Cause I’m off on Saturday morning and I wanna bring around some people from work, have a bit of a house party.” 

“Who from work?” Scott asked. “I mean, I’m off for the next four days.”

“What, why?” Stiles asked.

“We’re not busy enough, I’m getting forced time off and nope, I don’t want to hear your opinion Stiles, get back to who you’re inviting.” 

“Lydia, Jackson whenever he finishes, and then there’s a lot of new chefs in the kitchen who seem sound, so I was gonna invite them?”

“Sounds like fun,” Allison said, smiling brightly as if their earlier exchange had never happened. “I’m working tomorrow night but I’m off Saturday morning, so I’ll come round after work?”

“Sounds great. Well then, I better go get booze.” Stiles said. “Thanks for doing the dishes Allison.”

“Thanks for the stew, Stiles.” 

 

**~**

 

The next day in work, Stiles decided to stop by the office and bug Lydia first. It was a Tuesday, an easy day where there wasn’t many people staying at the hotel, so he wasn’t in any rush to get his work done.

“Drinks at mine tonight Lydia?”

Lydia tilted her head and he could almost imagine her picking out her outfit in her head.

“Will Allison be there?”

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded.

“Well, I’ve got a new dress to wear anyway,” she said, before putting on a smile. “I’ll come. I’ll get Jackson to show his face after his shift ends as well.”

Stiles grinned, “Awesome, so see you there!”

He scooted out of the office. Next stop; Kitchen.

With lunch and breakfast over the kitchen was almost empty, just Erica who was on the straight shift swanning around the kitchen slowly prepping for dinner. 

“Erica! I know you’re new here. Drinks, my place?”

Erica raised an eyebrow archly at him as leaned against the counter. The counter was scalding hot causing him to jump up, flailing. 

“You realize I’m with Boyd, right?”

“What, no, that’s not what I meant!” Stiles said hurriedly. “I mean like it’ll be my roommate and his girlfriend, Lydia, Jackson, and if you could give Isaac a text see if he wants to come as well?”

Erica pursed her lips and grinned. “Right, I’ll drag Boyd along as well.”

“You are a goddess,” Stiles said, rushing from the kitchen before she could change her mind. 

“Stilinski!” Erica yelled as he went past the serving hatch. “Dress code?”

“Err, Lyds said she was wearing a dress.”

“Perfect,” Erica smiled. Christ, Erica’s smile could only be described as ‘ _creepy_ ’ at best.

Stiles shift went quickly but he ended up getting held up helping out other, slower housekeepers. 

When he got home Scott was sprawled out on the couch, in his sweatpants and no shirt.

“Christ Scott, I’ve been working all day, you’re telling me I now need to clean the flat?” Stiles asked, exasperatedly. 

“Yes. I made you Lasagna as a thank you,” Scott said, not moving an inch.

“At least clean your room.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, it’s verging on a health hazard again, maybe? I don’t understand how Allison can stand being in there long enough to have sex with you, but I guess it must not take that long.”

“You’re a dick,” Scott sighed but he agreed to clean his room and Stiles decided to multitask cleaning the bathroom with cleaning himself. He grabbed his cleaning stuff and ducked into the shower, washing his hair and then soaping the bath sides and washing it down with the shower head. He then jumped out and bleached and cleaned the toilet and sink, tidied up the showers and then he was air dried by the time he was done. 

He finished up in the bathroom, wrapped a towel around his waist and left to find Scott still sitting on the Couch.

“Scott. Tidy up. Now.

The rest of the day went rather quickly, the two of them taking a break about half an hour in for Lasagna, and then Stiles yelling at Scott to clean increasingly more stuff. The house had been needing a good clean for a little bit longer than Stiles was comfortable, not to mention the two hours it took to detoxify Scott’s room and wash his _everything (_ Did that boy never do laundry? Stiles should start keeping better tabs on that). 

Around five Stiles finally asked about Allison, and was told firmly that it was fine and to leave it alone. 

Finally, at 7 o’clock - after a small break to play Call of Duty - they started to get ready, Stiles hooking up the stereo system, Scott vetoing the choice in music and Stiles choice in shirt;

(‘It says ‘stud’ then it’s got a picture of a muffin, get it?’

‘I get it, it’s still a no Stiles, put on a button down or something.’)

Then, when everything started to come together the doorbell rang.

Stiles looked to the clock. “It’s only nine o’clock, who’s arrived on time?” Stiles said, as he hit the intercom.

Erica’s voice buzzed through. “Stiles, let me up, it’s freezing out here!”

“What’s the password?”

“Stilinski, I will fry your balls-”

Stiles laughed and hit the buzzer to unlock the door, then opened their apartment door a crack. 

“Scott, buddy, they cavalry are here!” he yelled as the ‘ _clip-clop’_ and ‘ _thump thump’_ of people coming up the stairs echoed into their place. Stiles had put a sign on his front door with their name so that they would know which one was his. 

The door swung open, Erica strutting in with Isaac trailing behind her. He had a carrier bag that clinked with each steep he took and was not looking incredibly happy to be there.

Erica however looked fabulous. The word ‘sensational’ came to mind, he’d never seen her outside of kitchen whites before, and boy kitchen whites did her no favours. Kitchen whites didn't do anyone favours really, except maybe Derek, but that's only 'cuase he had the shoudler so fill them out.

Erica had on this little black dress, and these bright red heels, not to mention her figure. Fuck. Stiles aught to stop staring but it was the shock factor more than anything.

“Erica, you are looking lovely tonight,” he said, as she smiled brightly at him, shrugging off her jacket. “I’ll take that, it’ll be in Scott’s room when you go looking for it.”

“Thanks Stiles, Boyd’s gonna join us after kitchen clean up, I got away early.” 

When he came back Isaac and Scott had started making cocktails, and Erica was tryiing to convince Scott to take off his shirt.

“C’mon McCall, I know there’s abs under there, just lemmie have a peak!”

“No,” Scott squeaked, moving away from her as she made a grab for his shirt. “Christ, if I come and work with you guys is this what I’ve to expect?”

Isaac said yes at the same time as Erica said no. While the three of them were laughing, enjoying their drink, Stiles was flitting about the house rearranging things and cleaning more.

"Is he always like this?" Erica asked as Scott put down a colorful drink in front of her, complete with umbrella.

"Yeah, he didn't used to be but ever since he started housekeeping he's a bit of a neat freak."

"Strange," Erica muttered, before sucking down hard on the straw. Her eyes blew open and she moaned - intentionally, because everything about Erica was about the sex appeal apparently-. 

"Christ Scott, where'd you learn to make drinks like this?"

Scott shrugged, "I've been put on some bar shifts working at Argents, you learn some stuff."

Erica was interrupted by the doorbell ringing which caused an immediate stream of curses from Stiles.

"Fuck, I forgot Lydia was my boss!" Stiles paled. 

"Yeah, and?"

"Well!” Stiles said expectantly looking at Scott’s blank face. “I steal all our towels, don't I?" he moaned finally.

"Those are hotel towel?" Scott asked, slightly confused.

“No, I buy and launder Egyptian cotton towels for you, just to be nice,” Stiles deadpanned. 

“The hotel washes them too?!”

“No, the laundry company does! I just throw them in with all the dirty stuff from the day when no ones looking!” Stiles said, rushing to the bathroom and emerging with an armful of fluffy white towels. “Quick, where can I put them?”

Scott leapt to his feet and opened his bedroom door. Stiles launched the towels onto Scott’s bed and the door was closed was closed just in time for Lydia to appear.

“Hey! Lydia!” Stiles said brightly. “Lemmie take your coat.”

Lydia, looking slightly perplexed at the overly enthusiastic greeting she had received, shrugged off her coat and handed it to Stiles while Scott went and made her up a drink.

“You are looking fabulous tonight, may I just say? I think I’m underdressed!” Stiles said, laughing.

“Lydia, what d’you wanna drink? A cosmo?” Scott called from the kitchen. 

She paused, looking at them strangely before shrugging. “Yeah, great, I’m just going to pop to the bathroom.” 

Stiles slumped down across the island countertop from Scott with a sigh. Scott raised his eyebrows at him as Erica and Isaac tried not to laugh.

“So, anyway, I’ve been working for Argents,” Scott said to Erica and Isaac. “I mean, it’s not all bad, I’ve gotten some new job experience. I might have to cut off all my hair though...”

Stiles sighed, but he was cut short from having to reply by Lydia appearing.

“Stiles, why are there no towels in your bathroom?” Lydia demanded, as she shook her wet hands trying to dry them.

“Err...” Scott said.

“We don’t have any towels!”

Lydia raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. “You have _no_ towels?”

“No, er... Scott went out last night, and got really drunk and barfed all over them, so we threw them out.’’ Stiles said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Scott shot him a dirty look

“Stiles. You are the head housekeeper, I know you know how to get vomit out of some towels.” Lydia said archly, as she wiped her hands on a dish towel. “I also know that the reason you have that massive rucksack every day is because you take clean towels from the hotel and then bring back dirty ones, so get the towels out from wherever you hid them, I don’t care.”

Stiles opened his mouth as if he was about to protest before sighing and dragging the crumpled pile of towels out of the hallway closet.

He started to refold them, Scott attempted to help but he wasn’t doing it right so Stiles sent him away to get a drink. 

“Right, lets get some music and drinking games on the go!” Lydia said, clapping her hands together. “I need... a jug of some sort and a deck of cards.”

Lydia started setting up the game she had planned on the table, dictating to Scott and Stiles to move furniture for her, as Isaac and Erica got started on the drinking portion of the evening.

“Don’t get too enthusiastic over there you guys, this games heavy on the drink factor,” Lydia reminded them. “Did anyone invite Derek?”

Stiles paused, before realizing that he had invited the entire kitchen apart from Derek. 

“I told Boyd to bring him but he probably won’t come,” Erica said. “He’s working breakfast tomorrow and I don’t have the same pull as I do with Isaac to get him to go out anyway.”

Lydia smiled, as she looked at Scott. “I think I know of a way to get him off breakfast tomorrow.”

“What me?” Scott asked. “Ooh, no. No no no no no. Why on earth would I do that? I don’t even like the guy!”

“Well, I’m Allison’s best friend McCall. I know _stuff.”_

Lydia was the devil, like at least 90% evil and Stiles was so glad she was on his side. 

Well, mostly on his side at least. 

“Scott, I’m not asking for much really, just for you to cover one measly little shift to give Derek the chance to maybe have some fun, make some friends,” Lydia pouted. “He seems lonely.”

Boy, she was good at the manipulation. Scott looked torn between not wanting to to get sucked into the kitchen, and not wanting whatever dirt Lydia had to come to light.

Heck, she might not even have _anything_ on him, but Scott didn’t look ready to chance that.

“Why do you care so much about Hale?” Scott asked finally.

Lydia tapped her nose, “It’s all part of my over arcing plan, McCall.” Her eyes seemed to flick to Stiles, and back again. “So are you gonna do me this little favour?”

“Fine.” Scott said with a sigh, before turning and dumping his drink down the sink. “Fine, I will cover the fuckin’ breakfast shift with Isaac tomorrow.”

Isaac brightened.

“But how are we going to get him here?” Erica pointed out. “He’s not the most... social, I doubt Boyd’ll manage.”

“I have his number,” Stiles said, holding up his phone. “Will that help?”

Lydia grinned, and snatched the phone from Stiles grip, “Perfect.” 

 

**~**


	3. Our Prince is (s)Exiled From His Home and Forced to Seek Refuge in the Arms of his Damsel.

Stiles frowned, and looked at Derek, “That reminds me, Lydia’s over arcing plan.”

“Yeah?” Derek asked.

“Uh, d’you know what it is?”

Derek shook his head, “I doubt _anyone_ truly knows what any of Lydia’s plans are, she’s smart that way.”

“Scary,” Stiles corrected, rolling his eyes, “Scary’s the word you’re looking for.”

“Can we get on with the story?” John asked, head slumped down on the table. “Let’s just get it over with already.”

“Yeah, so anyway,” Stiles said. “The next day-”

 

**γ**

 

 

Stiles was roused from his sleep when Scotts alarm went off, some song by an indy band which started with a drumroll. Stiles, for some unknown reason, had slept on the armchair in the living room. His head wasn’t thumping all to bad but his stomach seemed to be on the spin cycle.

The music abruptly ended, and he heard Scott hissing; “Isaac, get up.”

Isaac gave a grumbled groan for a reply, but there was no sound of movement.

Stiles pressed his palms into his eyes, the room was dark but the morning light was starting to seep in through the window 

“You wanna cuppa coffee?” Scott asked him, noting that Stiles had woken. 

“Yeah, please,” Stiles yawned, before stretching, cracking his back into place.

Stiles heard another groan and looked over to see that Isaac was trying to disentangle him from a pile of limbs that was taking up most of the floor. Derek, Isaac, Boyd and Erica seemed to have curled up in one massive pile on the floor, and Isaac was trying to get up from between Derek and Erica without waking them, which was easier said than done considering they were all sharing one blanket.

Stiles head jerked up as he saw Lydia strutting from his room, looking incredibly immaculate for this time of the morning, the only telltale sign of her hangover were the large aviator sunglasses on her face.

“How?” Stiles gaped, sleepy edge still to his voice.

“Stiles, I perfected working with a hangover when I was in college. It’s a skill.”

“Did you... did you find time to shower?” he frowned while getting to his feet, before kicking Isaac lightly, since he seemed to have fallen back to sleep and was nuzzling up to Derek. 

“Yeah, I got up an hour ago,” Lydia said, sitting down at the breakfast bar across from Scott. “Unlike you guys, the sheer act of waking up isn’t all that big a deal, it’s almost like I do it every day.”

Stiles stuck his tongue out at Lydia as Scott put four steaming mugs of coffee on the countertop with a bowl of sugar and a jug of milk. “Help yourself,” he said, turning back to the toaster.

The smell of coffee finally managed to drag Isaac out of the nest of bodies and blankets, blinking one eye open blearily against the light.

“Hale better appreciate this,” Scott said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Stiles, can you make sure that Allison is up by half eight?”

“Yeah, man, no problem.”

Lydia looked at her watch. “C’mon boys, lets get to work.”

Scott picked up a pile of chefs whites he had sitting on the back of the couch and followed behind Lydia, head slumped and a slice toast in hand.

Stiles wanted to crawl back to his bed, but he knew Jackson wouldn’t be the biggest fan of that idea, so he was munching on the leftover toast when he heard his phone ringing. 

He cursed, he was sure his phone had been on silent. He dived across the room to the corner table, grabbing the phone before the ringing could wake up the sleepy chefs; Stiles wasn’t sure who would get to kill him for waking them up early one their morning off but he knew it would be Derek or Erica.

“‘Ello?” he whispered through a mouthful of food. 

“Hey, Der, You working this morning?”

It was a woman. 

Stiles pulled the phone back from his ear and frowned at the screen, and sure enough although it was the same make, the phone seemed a lot shinier and a lot less dented than his own. 

“Shit, sorry, I think I picked up the wrong phone, this is Stiles, who am I speaking to?”

“Stiles, eh?” the voice asked slyly. “I’m Laura, Derek’s sister.”

“Derek- Oh! This is _Derek_ ’s phone?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Why are you answering my brothers phone, at 6:30 in the morning?” Stiles could almost hear the grin in Laura’s voice. “Wait. Why are you called _Stiles?”_

“Oh, it’s not like that!” Stiles said hurriedly. He looked down at Derek, Erica and Boyd; Erica seemed to be hogging the blanket, so Stiles threw the blanket from his chair over Derek. “He was at my house for a drink with some friends last night-”

“Derek’s made friends?”

“Well, we made him come, I’m not sure what Lydia did. Anyway, we apparently have the same phone.”

“He stayed the night?” She asked. Laura seemed to be trying to stop herself from laughing. “Where did he sleep?”

“Uh, he kinda fell asleep in a pile on the floor with the other chefs from work. It’s vaguely adorable,” Stiles said.

“Oh my god, you have to send me a picture.”

“Gimmie your number and I’ll do it from my phone.” Stiles said, scanning the room for his cell.

“Okay, have you got your phone there?”

“Yeah, just...” Stiles finally spotted it in the crook of the armchair and darted for it. “Found it! What’s your number?”

Laura gave over her phone number and Stiles took the picture, giggling slightly. He was in the middle of sending the picture when Derek’s eyes peeked open.

“Right, that should be it, Laura,” Stiles said.

“Laura?” Derek asked groggily. 

Stiles froze.

“Stiles?” Laura asked. 

“Stiles, is that _my_ phone?!” Derek growled.

“Uhh, nope, no, it’s mine, we must have the same phone! Ha ha, isn’t that funny?”

Derek leapt at him. “Stiles, _gimmie the phone_.”

Stiles fell backwards onto the armchair, with 200 pounds of Derek pressing into him. Stiles held the phone as far up as his reach would allow, but Derek grabbed it out of his hands anyway.

“Bye Laura!” Stiles yelled as Derek wretched the phone out of his hand, before curtly putting it to his ear and growling at Laura; “I’ll phone you later.” 

Stiles was out of breath, Derek’s chest as heaving and he just realized that Derek had him straddled on the armchair, knees on either side of Stiles hips.

_Don’t get a boner, don’t get a boner._

Stiles froze, cheeks reddening as he kept his gaze locked on Derek’s, until Derek jumped up to his feet.

That was when Stiles noticed Derek was naked from the waist up. Christ, how had he not noticed that? Stiles didn’t even know people could _have_ abs like that. When did he even loose his shirt? 

“So, Laura seems nice,” Stiles said.

“I’m late!” Derek whinnied, frantically searching the room for his shirt. Stiles caught a glimpse of a tattoo between his shoulder blades, but he couldn’t make out what it was. “I need to go, fuck, can I even drive? Why didn’t Isaac wake me?”

“Whoa, dude, calm down,” Stiles said, hopping to his feet. Coffee, he needed more coffee, and for Derek to put a shirt on because he was wearing pajama pants god damn it, and the inappropriate thoughts in his head were going to be blindingly obvious if he didn’t calm down. “Derek, Scott’s got your shift, you’re off today, remember?”

Derek froze, before slowly turning his head “I’m off?”

“Yeah dude, so sit your ass down at the counter and I’ll make you some coffee. Sorry, we haven't got any ice cubes or that.” 

Derek let out a sigh and sat at the counter top. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“No problem” Stiles said, pulling down the box off coffee from the cupboard and making up a large, hot mug.

Stiles put the drink down in front of Derek, who was smiling. Smiling. Derek-I’m-gonna-kill-you-in-your-sleep-Hale was smiling at him.

“Thanks, Stiles. I mean, for the day off. And the coffee, but y’know, the day off was what I was aiming for.”

“Don’t mention it. Lydia did most of the organizing, you know what she’s like. Anyway, I better get cooking before the rest of them wake up.”

Stiles opened up the fridge and pulled out the bacon, eggs and sausages. He tried to take another drink of coffee but it made his stomach twist. 

“Dry toast, that’s what I need,” he muttered. “What about yourself there, Der? Stomach twisting? Headache?”

“Stomach’s not great,” he admitted, and Stiles put in an extra piece of toast for him. 

He started prepping up breakfast, putting on a tray of bacon first so that the smells would get everyone to wake up. The toast popped up from the toaster and Stiles threw one of the slices to Derek.

He caught it one handed. “Can I get some butter or something?”

“Dry toast first, better for your stomach, then we’ll work up to the extras,” Stiles informed him, putting oil into a pan to heat up.

By the time Stiles had finished cooking everyone had roused from their lumber, tempted by the smell of cooking food, and Derek had, thankfully, put a shirt on. 

They ate mostly silently. Stiles and Derek didn’t manage much food and Boyd and Erica more than made up for it, but every word anyone said was met with a snarl.

Allison looked worse than most; since she had been the last to arrive she tried to catch up with everyone else and ended up very drunk very quickly. She left first, staying just long enough to eat her breakfast before dashing off for lunch with her mom. Boyd and Erica left after that, but not before raiding the medicine cabinet and stealing all their pain killers. 

Jackson hung around a surprisingly long time, making small talk with Derek, before he finally headed home at the back of ten, when he was certain he was sober enough to drive. 

Derek, however, didn’t seem to be making any moves to leave. In fact, he had sprawled himself out on the couch, T.V. remote in hand, clutching his stomach and looking pale. 

“Budge,” Stiles said. Derek moaned, but lifted his feet then placed them back across Stiles lap once he had sat down.

“Urgh, you are the worst hangover martyr,” Stiles said, flicking on the television. Stiles himself did not take all that much liquor to get him drunk, and while his memories of the previous night were spotty at best, (oh god, he’s sure he was the one who convinced Derek to take off his shirt), it was out his system quickly so he did not suffer much from hangovers. 

Derek however, well Derek was like 200 pounds of muscle and Stiles had seen him drinking Jack straight from the bottle. The amount of alcohol he had swimming around in his veins was more than bore thinking about.

A phone started to ring on the side table, Derek’s phone, though he made no motion to get it other than lifting a grabby arm and moaning.

“Nope, if you can’t get up you don’t get the phone,” Stiles said simply, glancing at the screen to see it was Laura, again.

“Hey there Laura, Derek is acting like an invalid and cannot come to the phone right now-” Stiles yelped as the phone was snatched from his hand again as Derek got to his feet. 

“Hi Laura,” he said weakly, as his face went white as a sheet.

“Derek, man, you okay?” Stiles asked, hopping to his feet, putting one hand consolingly on his shoulder. 

“Hold on Laura,” Derek said, faintly, before putting the phone down into Stiles hand and rushing to the bathroom. There was the swift bang of the toilet lid, before Stiles heard the telltale sound of vomiting.

Stiles put the phone up to his ear and laughed. “His hangover is the most amusing thing I’ve ever seen. Is he always like this?” 

“Yeah,” Laura said. “Grab a picture of him hurling, please? I need blackmail material.”

“Laura, you’ve never met me, but I am scrawny at best. Your brother would kill me dead.”

“He might, but it would be a sacrifice for the greater good,” she said solemnly. “So when’s he back at work?”

“Tomorrow, he’s got today off.”

“The _whole day_?! What did you do too my brother?” she asked, in mock horror.

“Well, he drunk what can only be described as ‘a-fuck-load’ of Jack,” Stiles laughed heartily as Derek emerged from the bathroom, pale faced. 

“Phone, Stiles.”

“Magic word?” Stiles teased as he heard Laura laughing on the other end. 

“Now!”

Stiles handed over the phone without another word, but with a grin on his face that seemed to annoy Derek to no end. 

‘Laura.” Derek said, as Stiles went through to the kitchen to make more dry toast. 

He tried not to eavesdrop, he really did, but he couldn’t help it.

“I dunno when I’ll be home Laura, the hotel’s not set up for me to leave yet. I need a Sous Chef.”

There was muttering on the other end.

“I can’t just hire anyone, I’ll be back in this situation again in three months when ‘anyone’ abandons me.”

Laura was biting back something at him now, Stiles couldn’t make out words but she sounded mad.

“Laura can we not do this now?”

There was a moment of silence, before Derek sighed. “Love you too. I better go I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

Stiles looked over at him. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just better be going, thanks for... everything.”

“You sure you’re okay to drive? You just threw up.”

“I’m fine,” Derek said through gritted teeth. 

“No problem, dude. Look, even if Scott doesn’t want to be your sous chef, you need to find _someone_ , okay?”

Derek nodded, before grabbing his jacket and heading out without casting a second glance back to Stiles.

 

**~**

 

Scott came back for a few hours at two o’clock, shortly after Derek had left. He was on a split apparently, and he couldn’t stop talking about Isaac from the moment he got in the door. 

“-And then the waiter tried to pick up my plates before I was ready, and I’d told him to stop doing that, so Isaac just stopped. Right in the middle of service, and he got me to stop too and we just stood there until the waiter put the plate back at the hotplate and apologized.”

Scott was... buzzing. Buzzing was the only word to describe it. He hadn’t seen Scott come home from work like this in about a year.

“Well then that’s good.” Stiles paused, “I know you said you didn’t want to talk to me about it, but where do you stand on the whole ‘Sous Chef’ position, ‘cause you need to let Derek know man, he’s gonna kill himself without someone else to help him out soon.”

“Yeah, I know,” Scott paused. “I mean I don’t know what I’m doing yet, what with the whole Argent side, and Allison really wouldn’t like me working for the competitor, but I’m gonna pick up some shifts with Derek until I figure this all out.”

“Yeah?” Stiles asked. 

Scott shrugged. “He’s short staffed, y’know, he needs the help,” Scot paused, putting his feet up on the table. “And Argent are still cutting my hours as much as humanly possible so I could do with the money.”

 

**~**

 

Stiles and Scott stayed up until 3am playing Call of Duty that night, so when Stiles got his list of rooms from the girls at reception and he started divvying out all of housekeepers duties for the day, he made sure to give himself an easy one. It was a Wednesday, the hotel was half empty and 90% of the people there were staying, so everyone had an easy day, _really_ , Stiles just had an easier day than most. What was the point of being the boss if you couldn’t use it to your advantage if you stayed up to late? 

In hindsight, Stiles had perhaps given himself too easy of a day, considering he was finished with his rooms by breakfast. If they finished early they could decide to go home and not get paid for the rest of the day, or they could do busy tasks, like restocking the cupboards around the hotel, cleaning the laundry room and staff areas, unpacking clean laundry, bagging dirty laundry, and all sorts of cleaning things that generally didn’t get done on a day to day basis. 

Stiles decided to go for a nap in his cupboard until the end of his shift.

He went about it subtly, grabbing his bacon roll, pretending like the guests were messy assholes and it would take him a bit longer to get it all finished than he’d first expected. He chatted to Erica, who told him he needed to have everyone else around again soon, because that was a ‘damn fun night’.

Then he went, and laid out a clean sheet over the top of the other clean towels, grabbed a spare pillow and turned out the light and shut his cupboard door.

It was such a good nap that he didn’t wake up when his alarm went off. In fact he only woke up when the light of his cupboard was switched on and someone shook him. Hard.

“Rude,” he muttered as his eyes tried to adjust to the light. 

He saw Derek freakin’ Hale standing in the door way, with a look that only looked... amused? Maybe a little angry but Stiles wasn’t certain that that wasn’t just how his face looked. 

“You took a _nap?”_

“Christ, what time is it?”

“Like half past three. Let’s get back to the part where you took a _nap_ in your cupboard.” Derek paused, and looked at the sheet laid down underneath him and the pillow he’d been using. “Christ, that’s not even like a half assed attempt, you made yourself a bed and everything.”

“What are you here for?” Stiles moaned, jumping down off the shelving unit.

“Lydia assumed you had some extra work to do or something, so she left without you. She told me to make sure you got home safe.”

“I don’t need a baby sitter,” Stiles muttered, as he pulled on his trainers.

“Clearly you do, since you _fell asleep in the cupboard.”_

“You’re not gonna let that one drop, are you?”

“It _just_ happened. Also, you fell _asleep_. In a _cupboard._ ”

Stiles huffed, and grabbed his coat before following Derek down the hall “Do you own any coats that aren’t leather?” Stiles asked, nudging his shoulder..

“Yes.” 

“Do you wear any coats that aren’t leather?” 

Derek ignored that and pushed open the backdoor, which lead directly into the Staff car park. Stiles spotted the shining Camero and made a bee-line for it. Derek unlocked the car and Stiles slid into the front seat, tossing his bagpack into the back of the car before digging his phone out of his coat. He had a text from Scott waiting for him.

- ** _dude, can you stay out the apartment till like 5? please and thank you_**

Stiles groaned. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“I can’t go home, Scott and Allison are having crazy sex apparently.”

Derek winced, then hesitated before saying; “You can come over to mine, I suppose.”

“Don’t make it sound like you’re pulling teeth or anything,” Stiles laughed. “It’s fine, I can go-”

“I mean, I would like you to come over,” Derek said, not meeting Stiles eyes as he started the car.

Stiles swallowed. “Okay.”

They were tensely silent for a moment, Derek starting up the car and pulling out of the carpark, before a thought occurred to Stiles.

“So Scott’s gonna help pull some shifts in the kitchen, that must be a load off your mind?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah, no, I was working with him this morning, he’s good.”

Stiles grinned, “Good? My boy Scottie’s the best and you know it. It’s bullshit he’s got all this drama with the Allison, the Argent’s are wasting him.”

Derek nodded at him, as the car started to pick up speed. Stiles was slightly worried Derek was heading to his house still, but the car sped past his apartment block, heading towards the edge of town. 

“So, have you got any Thanksgiving plans?” Stiles asked.

“Work, the hotel’ll be full and I know Scott’s already said he can’t cover a shift that night so it’ll be all hands on deck,” Derek said.

Stiles nodded, “Man, that sucks.”

“Nah, I like the work, I mean, Laura’s a bit pissed, she says she misses me, but I know that she’s planning on spending it with her boyfriends parents so I wouldn’t want to get in the way anyway.” The car pulled up outside a big apartment block, it was a nice place, nicer than Stiles expected. Stiles jumped out the car, grabbing his bagpack on the way. 

They took the lift all the way up to the top floor and the doors of the elevator opened up into Derek’s living room.

Stiles had assumed from the state of the rest of the building that Derek’s place was going to be nice and fancy, and yeah it was _huge,_ but everything was still being fixed up _, with_ tarps over all the furniture and rusty nails in view. With the size of the place Stiles wondered for the first time if Derek had a significant other.

He didn’t like the idea, he’d admit it, his casual attraction to Derek seemed to be developing into a full on crush. _Nope, not happening_ , Stiles thought to himself. _Shake out of it._

“Isaac, you home?” Derek called into the apartment.

“Isaac?” Stiles asks. “Oh I forgot you live with Isaac. So does that mean you two are...?” Stiles makes a crude gesture with his fingers.

Derek blushed, honest to god _blushed_ , and Stiles stomach twisted uncomfortably, but then Derek laughed and shook his head. Stiles wondered what had been going through his head to make him blush like that.

“Christ, no, Isaac moved in recently, he’s a friend, I knew him before we started working together.”

“Right.” He said, as Derek moved through a door to (presumably) the kitchen. 

The apartment had the markings of something that could be great, the old wood beams up above him, and windows which made up almost all the front wall, sending the sunlight streaming in, but the floors were in shambles, there was almost no furniture and the walls need painted, badly. There’s no way Stiles was going to takeoff his shoes here because he’d end up with tetanus.

Derek poked his head back through the archway to the kitchen. “You okay?”

“Yeah, err... nice place here,” Stiles tried

Derek laughed and looked down at the floor, as Stiles headed into the kitchen after him. “Yeah,” he said rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s a work in progress. I mean, I’ve got the bathroom and the kitchen done but the rest is still a bit... iffy.”

He was right, the kitchen was brand new and looked out of place against the disheveled appearance of the rest of the apartment with it’s shiny stainless steel _everything_ and top of the range gas cooker on the island countertop the middle of the room.

“The kitchen’s looking good,” Stiles said.

“I’m a chef, the kitchen’s important. Do you want something to eat?”

“Yeah, just make me whatever you’re having,” Stiles said, wandering over to the fridge.

He knew Derek didn’t have many friends, but there was a few personal pictures on the fridge top. One of him and Isaac in New York, infront of the empire state building, Isaac grinning wildly, on Derek’s shoulders while Derek just smiled with the corner of his mouth. Another was a close up of him and this beautiful girl, all dark hair and tanned skin, then the third and final picture was of a massive group of people, everyone hugging, and holding onto each other.

Derek appeared over his shoulder. “Yeah, that’s my family.”

“Big family,” Stiles said, pulling the picture down from the fridge and trying to find Derek. He managed, Derek was in the first row with the same beautiful girl. It was a small picture but Stiles was pretty sure that he had his arm wrapped around her waist. 

“Yeah, we were.”

Stiles frowned at the word choice, but put the picture back as Derek got to work chopping up leeks. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

“You can sit there and look pretty,” Derek gestured to a stool on the other side of the countertop.

“But I haven't done my hair today!”

Derek laughed, and got back to work chopping up the leeks. Stiles wondered if the girl was his girlfriend, wife even? Derek had to be approaching that age, he was maybe thirty or so, people get married before thirty, not to mention the picture of him and her close up had Derek looking a fair bit younger, maybe mid-twenties. 

“So, whose the girl?” Stiles asked, trying and failing to be subtle. “What, wife, girlfriend? Do they travel a lot or something?“

Derek looked up, his face unreadable but maybe a bit amused. There was a moment of silence, before the phone ran. 

“That’ll be her. Why don’t you answer it?”

Stiles stomach twisted. Of course someone like Derek wasn’t unattached, stupid perfect abs and perfect hair.

He picked up the wall mounted phone, and was greeted by shouting.

“FOR GODS SAKE DEREK!”

Wait a minute... Stiles recognized that voice.

“Laura?!” he asked, raising an eyebrow at Derek, who was fighting back laughter as he tried to cook. 

“Who’s this?”

“Stiles, you remember me?”

“Oh yeah, Stiles, from the other morning. Sorry to yell, any chance you can put my brother on?”

“Yeah, alright,” Stiles said, putting a hand over the receiver. “Derek, she wants to talk to you.”

“Oh no, I am not getting involved in this. You talk to her,” he said, as he tossed the leeks and bacon into the pan. Everything started to sizzle and the smell of cooking leeks filled the room, causing Stiles to moan. 

“Christ, that looks good. Is it gonna be long?”

“Ten minutes maybe?” Derek said, turning around to grab a rolling pin.

Stiles took his hand off the phone mouthpiece. “He doesn’t want to talk to you, says he’s not getting involved.”

“Typical. Fine, tell him he can be as grumpy as he wants. Anyway, Stiles, I need some dirt on him,” Laura started.

“Oh no, he’s like three feet away from me, Laura, and holding a rolling pin.”

Laura laughed. “Don’t be scared of Derek; he’s a big puppy really, all bark and no bite. I’m sure that if you rubbed his belly his tongue would start hanging out.”

“What do you want to know?” Stiles asked, as Derek raised an eyebrow at him, before turning back to his job rolling out the pastry.

“Well, he won’t stop talking about this girl, he’s not told me a name or anything-” Laura started, but Stiles interrupted her.

“Wait, Derek won’t stop talking about something? He doesn’t seem like the talking type to me really...”

“Well,” Laura corrected. “By won’t stop talking I mean he’s mentioned her like five times or something. It’s a record, I'm expecting wedding bells any day now, but like I don't even know her name.”

Stiles laughed, "Right, so what do you know about her?”

“Uh, she’s the head housekeeper,” Laura said.

Stiles blinked. “Wait, _head_ housekeeper? You’re sure she’s not just a regular housekeeper?”

“Stiles?” Derek asked. “What is Laura saying?”

“Yeah, why? Is she like fifty or something?!” Laura asked with a cackle. “Oh that’d be great!”

“Nah, you must’ve caught the wrong end of the stick, _I’m_ the head housekeeper,” Stiles said, keeping his tone light. 

“Stiles, _ignore_ Laura, she’s a no good gossip,” Derek said, moving around the table to grab the phone from Stiles hand. Stiles jumped away, but Derek had gotten the phone out of his hand and was holding it to his ear.

“Laura,” Derek said, with a warning note in his voice.

Stiles couldn’t hear Laura on the other end of the line, so he sat down at the countertop trying to pice together what had just happened.

So Laura thought Derek had a crush on the head of housekeeping. So what, it was probably just because she assumed head housekeeper was a girl. Yeah, that was it, heck, if she’d known it was Stiles from the beginning she probably never would’ve figured that, and it’s not like Derek had ever shown any sign of interest towards him.

Derek hung up the phone, his shoulders tense as he headed back to cooking, then, after a minute of silence, he decided to speak up.

“Don’t listen to Laura, she’s a gossip,” Derek said.

“Yeah, no, I figured a much,” Stiles said, laughing. 

“I mean, I love her and all but... yeah, she likes to think she knows everything about me because she calls me three times a week.”

"You’re pretty close?”

“Yeah, we moved to New York together after I graduated, got set up in a kitchen, worked our way up the ranks.”

“Oh, she’s a cook too?”

“Yeah, actually, it seemed to be a theme in our family. My mom was one too, a really good one.”

“Huh,” Stiles said, as Derek pulled their lunch out of the oven. “So, what’ve you made?”

“Leak, Bacon and Cheese taitain.” Derek said, smiling. He seemed to be glad of the change of subject as he flipped the pastry dish onto a plate and cut it into slices.

“Yum,” was Stiles reply.

Derek started to tell him more stories about his family as they ate. They’d grown up around a lot of family, full of cousins and younger siblings, and it had sounded wonderful, Sties had always been kinda jealous of big families until he’d met Scott, then he had a brother in everything but name so it hadn’t been as big a deal.

“So,” Derek continued. “We’re all meant to be out at dinner, but the restaurant had double booked and we decided to head home rather than wait for a table to free up. We walk into the living room, the entire family, grandparents and everything, to find Laura butt naked with Jimmy’s Piano Teacher!”

Stiles spluttered out his coffee as the laugh fought to escape his throat. “Fuck, and Jimmy’s your little brother?”

Derek nodded, a cheesy grin on his face.

“You were right, that totally beat my story for embarrassment factor,” Stiles laughed, then glanced at the clock, it was past 6 and Scott would be wondering where he was. “Right, well Der, I better love you and leave you, I’ve got shit to do tonight.”

“I’ll drive you,” Derek said, reaching for his keys. 

“Nah, man, leave it, I could do with the walk. Thanks anyway and I’ll see you later, Derek.” Stiles said, grabbing his coat and backpack. Derek walked him to the door, and then stood awkwardly for a moment after he’d opened it.

“Well, thanks for dinner,” Stiles said, before acting on impulse and pulling Derek into a hug.

Stiles regretted it immediately; Derek went stiff as a board, and Stiles quickly let go. 

Stiles saluted, putting on a grin. “See ya’ later,” he said, before turning into the elevator and hitting the ‘door close’ button as quickly as he could, making a mental note that he and Derek obviously weren’t quite at the hugging stage yet.

 

**~**


	4. Our Prince Journeys Back to the Land of His Birth

“I seriously think you’re giving me to many details here, kid,” John said. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You asked for the story, I’m giving you the story!”

“I told you to tell me who he was and why he was here,” John growled. Derek looked apologetically at him and shrugged his shoulders.

“You made me loose track, where was I?”

“You were just going to start avoiding me,’ Derek said. “Which answers a lot of my questions, I was wondering why all of a sudden you were acting like I had the plague.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you, I was merely trying to assess the situation from a distance!” Stiles countered. “I mean, like you were... _you_ , and it’s not like you gave me any signals or anything-”

“Stiles. Story.” John ordered wearily.

“So I had just been for dinner at Derek’s place, and Laura had really thrown me off-”

 

**δ**

 

Stiles spent most of his time at work trying to avoid Derek. It wasn’t that they were awkward or anything but he just couldn’t get his head screwed on right, what Laura had said to him was rattling around in his brain. 

There was no way Derek could like him, he might’ve been smiling a little bit more as of late, but hey, that was probably because he could get days off now that Scott was helping out.

Stiles groaned, as the rain started to tip down on him. Stupid golfers staying at the hotel, making it ridiculously busy for November. 

He still had about ten minutes of walk left to get to work and it was tipping it down. He cursed himself for not bringing a jacket, and began to jog, when a car slowly pulled up beside him.

It was Derek’s car. Stupid Derek and his stupid shiney car. 

The window rolled down, and Derek stuck his head down, chuckling at him. “Get in the car Stiles.”

Stiles ran to the passenger side and pulled open the door, falling into the car as Derek barely allowed him to shut the door before speeding off.

“Where’s your Jeep?”

“It’s in the shop,” Stiles said, pulling a towel out of his bag and trying to dry off his hair slightly. “Getting ready for heading down to Beacon Hills. She needs a bit of TLC sometimes.”

“If you need a lift any time I’m happy to help.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

There was a pause.

“Are we okay?” asked Derek. Stiles couldn’t see his face mush, since he was focused on the road, but Stiles looked down at his feet. “‘Cause you’ve barely spoken to me since you came around the other day.”

“Yeah. Fine,” Stiles said quickly, heart rate thumping. Stupid Derek, why couldn’t he have just been an ass like he was back when they worked in _Lupin_. 

Stiles needed to get a handle on himself.

They headed in the back door of the hotel, Derek ducking into the changing room as Stiles went to the back office to sign in.

“Yo, Lydia, looking gorgeous as always,” he said to the back of Lydia’s head. She didn’t turn around but he imagined she rolled her eyes at him. 

“Good morning Stiles, how’re you?” she asked in reply.

“Fine, fine, y’know, just-” Stiles started, but was cut off by a confused Derek bursting into the room. 

“Have you guys seen Isaac?” He asked, slightly panicked tone to his voice. “‘Cause the kitchen’s half set up for breakfast and he’s nowhere in sight.”

Lydia turned around, frowning, “He’s not in the kitchen? He was working last time I walked past.”

“Well, he’s not there now!”

Stiles scratched his chin, before his eyes went wide. “Derek! Did you get the fridge door fixed?”

“Not the time, Stiles.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and grabbed Derek by the arm, “No, dufus, you can’t open it from the inside!”

Derek froze, face going blank. “Fuck,” he muttered, before taking off like a shot down the hall towards the walk in refrigerator.

“You can’t run in the halls!” Stiles called weakly, before glancing around and running after him just in time to see Derek tearing the fridge door open. 

Isaac was sitting on floor, huddled close to him self shaking. Stiles fumbled in after Derek who grabbed the sobbing Isaac by the shoulders and man handled him out of the fridge. 

Stiles grabbed the other side of Isaac, wrapping one hand around his waist as the two of them hauled him through to the kitchen. He was still sobbing, body shaking with every breath. 

“Yo, Isaac, buddy, look at me, alright?” Stiles said, grabbing Isaacs face and holding it up right. His breathing was short, panicked. 

“I.. I can’t breath,” Isaac gasped, clutching his chest.

“What’s wrong?” Derek said. “Stiles! What’s happening?”

“Uh, god, uh, I think he’s having a panic attack. Isaac, Isaac, listen to me, it’s okay, it’s fine, you’re gonna be fine,” Stiles rubbed his back as Isaac slumped back against the kitchen wall. “C’mon, Isaac, I need you to breath with me, I’ll count, you breath buddy. Big breaths, deep breaths, okay? Right, in for two, out for two.”

Isaac gasped his breaths, but Stiles kept counting out loud until his breathing finally steadied. 

“Fuck,” Isaac swore, still slightly breathless and sweaty. He tried to stand back up, but his legs gave out and he fell into Stiles arms. 

“Don’t push it dude, give yourself a minute,” Stiles said.

“What happened?” Derek demanded.

“Give him a minute, Derek,”

Isaac smiled at him gratefully and took a deep breath, “Uh, I was in the freezer, trying to find more sausagess, and, uh, I think one of the waiter's must’ve come in to get some butter out the fridge and shut the door behind them,” Isaac shuddered. “I heard someone banging around and then the door was shut.”

Derek clenched his jaw, hands curling into fists, “I’m going to go and have a word with the dining room staff then, are you okay?”

Isaac nodded, and Derek was off like a shot. 

Stiles pulled Isaac over to a stool and gave him a glass of water, before busying himself getting breakfast set up in double quick time as it was only twenty minutes till service started. 

He could hear Derek yelling at the waiting staff all the way from the kitchen, and he smiled a little. 

 

**~**

 

Stiles never found out what had triggered Isaac’s panic attack other than possibly severe claustrophobia, and he didn’t push it, but he did notice that the fridge door was fixed by the next day. 

So things settled back to normal as the hotel prepared for Thanksgiving. Only one of the chefs could have the holiday off work, so the baby cooks drew straws which Isaac won. Erica was furious about that fact since all Isaac planned to do was watching football and wait for everyone to finish work so they could have a late thanksgiving dinner, which she claimed was a _waste_ of the holiday.

Rather than work out her anger in an emotionally healthy way, or even blame Isaac, Erica was unleashing her rage firmly at Stiles. 

By refusing to give him any food.

“But _Errriiiiicccaaa,”_ Stiles whined through the kitchen hatch.

“Nope. I wanted to go visit my family, you being off means we have no kitchen back up and we’re a _still_ chef down.”

“Just ‘cause I asked first. If you’d wanted to go home for Thanksgiving you should’ve booked it,” Stiles retorted.

Erica glared at him. “Stop digging, Stiles.”

“Oh my god, stop being so sour, you, Boyd, Isaac and maybe Derek will have a big late Thanksgiving at like midnight when your shifts finish with all the left overs from the hotel, it’ll be wonderful, way better than dealing with screaming younger family members.”

Erica ignored him, but a plate of fries was placed infront of him with very little glaring, so Stiles assumed that she wasn’t really mad. 

Stiles headed into the office, fries in hand. Lydia was missing, but there was a cup of coffee on her desk so she couldn’t have been far, and Derek was sitting at his desk with rotas and menus splayed out around him. 

He turned around and raised an eyebrow at him. “So I see Erica’s forgiven you for usurping her holiday.”

“The old Stilinski Charm,” Stiles grinned. “So are your family not annoyed at you having to work Thanksgiving?”

Derek barked out a laugh, “Nah, Laura doesn’t mind, she’s all loved up at the moment.”

Stiles frowned. “But what about the rest of your family? I mean you’ve got _loads,_ I saw that picture on the fridge-”

“Don’t you have work to be doing?” Derek snapped. 

“Uh, not really.”

“Well, I do, so buzz off,” Derek said. 

“What did I do?” Stiles asked, head tilted to one side. Derek wouldn’t look up anymore but his mouth was twisted into a grimace.

He point blank ignored him.

“God, I don't get you sometimes,” Stiles said, as he grabbed his plate of fries from the table and headed back into the kitchen.

 

**~**

 

The next morning, Stiles received a text during his shift informing him that he was coming around for coffee at Lydia’s after he was finished, he was to bring her a two pump Moco-frappitino with extra soy or something like that, and that it was non optional, so with a sigh he washed the sweat from his face and the back of his neck, then bundled into the jeep, heading through the drive through Starbucks on the way.

Lydia’s apartment was in the rich side of town, in this grand building where no one had a bedroom which was an old converted boiler cupboard.

He headed up to the third floor and went in through the unlocked door. 

Lydia’s apartment had two bedrooms, one with a slightly bigger walk-in-wardrobe/bathroom, but both roughly about the size of his and Scott’s entire place. The hallway was flanked by double french doors either side, with a grand archway at the end leading into the living areas.

Stiles hung up his coat by the door, and headed into the living room, which overlooked one of the parks and the river. The room had large, church like windows to make the most of that fact.

“Stiles, sit, I’ve got lunch,” she smiled at him, accepting the coffee he handed her. 

Stiles toed off his work shoes before setting foot on the large white rug, and falling onto the other sofa - _carefully-_ without spilling his coffee. Lydia’s sofas, like everything else in her apartment, were hideously perfect and better men than him had lost a ball for less than an accidental coffee spill.

He spread his legs out and grabbed the bowl of pasta salad from the table and started to wolf it down.

“So are you looking forward to Thanksgiving?” She asked.

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Lydia, we’ve known each other a while now, you don’t just invite me over for lunch and butter me up with food to ask how my life’s treating me. 

“Fine, I’m wondering what’s going on between you and Hale,” she said, leaning forward, resting her chin on a perfectly manicured hand.

“Derek?” Stiles asked, hoping he sounded a helluva lot calmer than he felt. “Nothing, I mean, we’re friends, I think... It’s hard to tell with him.”

Lydia nodded, smirking slightly. “ _Just_ friends?”

Stiles felt the blood rushing up to his face, stupid body betraying him. “Yeah, I don’t even know if he bends that way, Lyds, I mean, even if he did, why would he go for all this,” he gestured at himself.

Lydia rolled her eyes at him, “Stop fishing for compliments. You know as well as I do you’ve grown up nicely.”

Stiles put one hand over his heart and smiled at her, “Lydia, that is the nicest thing I think I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Now you may not affect my dopamine and norepinephrine levels, but that doesn’t mean you don’t influence other peoples.”

Stiles frowned at her, “I’m 80% sure you’re insulting me Lyds, but I don’t really know what you said.”

Lydia sighed, “I’m not sexually attracted to you, but that doesn’t mean other’s arent. Anyway, that’s not the only reason you’re here, I need gossip.”

“About?” Stiles asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Scott and Allison.”

**~**

 

Stiles had fallen asleep to the sound of arguing that night, Allison and Scott having the mother of all blow outs. He didn’t hear specifics through the thin walls, he didn’t _want_ to either, but the words ‘Derek’ and ‘Betrayed’ were thrown around a lot.

He’d rolled over and tucked his pillow tighter around his head to block out the noise.

When Stiles woke up there was a note on his kitchen counter from Scott, telling him that he was coming back to Beacon Hills for Thanksgiving, and not going to the Argents anymore. 

 

**~**

 

“Last day of work, last day of work, it’s my last day of work!” Stiles sang as he skipped around the kitchen.

Derek glared up at him from the deep fat friers where he was in the middle of frying fish fillets. “Stop dancing, Stiles, it’s a health hazard, you’re gonna fall.”

“Spoilt sport,” Stiles grumbled, still smiling. “I’m not gonna fall.”

Derek rolled his eyes, “Stiles you _always_ fall.”

Stiles scowled at him and crossed his arms across his chest. “I don’t _always fall,_ ” he said as he attempted to lean back against a counter.

It turned out however that the counter was further away than he had though, causing him to thrash his arms free, reaching out blindly for something to stop himself from falling. He managed to catch himself just before he hit the floor and quickly pulled his feet back up underneath him.

Derek snorted, shaking his head as he dipped another fish fillet in the friers, “I honestly couldn’t have timed that better if I’d tried.”

There was a ringing coming from Derek’s pocket which cut off Stiles reply. Derek glanced at his hands, all covered in flour and raw batter, before shooting Stiles a pained look.

“Stiles, any chance you could-”

“Uh, yeah, okay,” Stiles said, before he gingerly crossed the kitchen and reached a hand into Derek’s pocket to pull out the vibrating phone.

“It’s Laura,” Stiles said, checking the caller I.D.

“Answer it then.”

Stiles hit the ‘accept’ and put the phone up against his ear, “‘Ello there Laura, it’s Stiles again.”

“Hey Stiles,” Laura said, without missing a beat. “I’m phoning about Thanksgiving.”

“Right,” Stiles said, as Derek hissed at him; “ _What’s she saying?”_

“Look, I don’t know what my brother’s plans are for Thanksgiving, I know he weaseled out of visiting me since he needs to work,” Laura said, Stiles could imagine she was rolling her eyes. “But then, if you let him, all he would do was work.”

“Uh he is working that night, since Scott, you know Scott, right?”

“Is that the guy Derek wants to hire as a sous chef?”

“Yeah, him,” Stiles smiled. Derek had started to ignore him now, just accepting that Stiles and Laura would chatter if he let them on the phone together. “Anyway, Scott’s been pulling a lot of shifts for us, but he’s been planning on spending it with his girlfriends family.”

“Right,” Laura said. “So what I was wanting to phone about was to make sure that Derek won’t be _alone_ , it’s the anniversary of the fire-”

“Huh?”

There was a pause. “He’s not _told_ you?” 

“Told me what?”

“Stiles?” Derek asked, head whipping round to look at him.

Stiles ignored him. “What are you talking about?”

“Uh, it’s not my place to tell you, it should really come from Derek,” Laura said. “Look, Stiles, just make sure that he’s not alone, please, okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I will do.” Stiles said. “Do you want to talk to Derek?”

“Nah it’s fine, tell him I’ll phone later. Bye Stiles,” Laura said, and there was a click as the line went dead.

“Stiles?” Derek asked, tone guarded.

“Tonight I’m coming around to yours when you’re finished and we’re going to _talk,_ because you need to explain some shit to me,” Stiles said, shakily. 

He put the phone down on the countertop and left the kitchen.

 

**~**

 

Stiles conversation with Derek that night was one of the strangest he’d ever had. 

He’d arrived to find a nervousDerek Hale flitting around the kitchen, with a three course dinner on the way.

“Whoa, Derek, calm down, deflecting’s not gonna get you anywhere,” Stiles said as he sat down at the island counter.

Derek looked over at him, slightly confused, maybe even hopeful? Stiles had no idea what was going on here.

“Deflecting?”

“Look, Laura told me on the phone, well she didn’t tell me, she started and then said it needed to come from you-”

“Stiles, I can explain-”

“She said something about a _fire,”_ Stiles interrupted.

Derek froze, his face going blank. “Fire?”

“Yes dufus, _fire._ Something about making sure you weren’t alone on Thanksgiving since it’s the anniversary of the fire.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Derek snapped immediately, face twisting into a scowl. He moved his pot off of the hob, switched it off and then stormed out of the kitchen.

Stiles sat, frozen at the island countertop. What had Derek thought they were going to talk about?

The slam of a door shook Stiles out of his thoughts, and he jumped down off of the chair, and headed through to the living room. There was another door in the corner of the apartment that was closed and the picture on the wall next was crooked. 

Stiles banged on the door, before pushing it open. Derek was sat on his bed glaring at him.

“When I came in here Stiles, it was to be _alone_.”

“Derek, for fuck’s sake _trust me_ , for once in your life just _trust._ Why do I need to make sure you’re not alone on Thanksgiving?”

“You don’t,” Derek growled at him. “You don’t have to do anything for me.”

“Oh, don’t I? ‘Cause I was starting to think that we were _friends,_ oh my god Derek, what has happened to you to make you like _this?”_

“Like _what?”_ Derek snarled at him, pushing up to his feet. 

“I dunno, this defensive, angry, untrusting _child_!” Stiles yelled. 

Derek slammed Stiles up against his door with one shove, Stiles head smacking back against the wood with a painful _CRACK._

Stiles eyes watered, and Derek’s softened. 

“Stiles-”

“No, you know what, _fuck you_ , Derek. You don’t get to hurt me, to get out of uncomfortable situations. That’s _not_ okay,” Stiles snapped, shoving Derek back.

Derek fell onto the bed, and looked down at his hands, refusing to meet Stiles eyes.

Stiles sighed, “Now I’m giving you one more chance, because I actually care about you, you big ass, why don’t you tell me _what the fuck happened,_ and I won’t walk out of this place and never look back.

Derek’s jaw clenched, then started he to crumple as his head fell into in his hands.

Stiles was about to leave, assuming silence was Derek’s way of refusing, when he opened his mouth and started to speak. 

“Her name was Kate.”

Stiles slid down to the floor, sitting cross legged. Derek kept his head in his hands but his tone was steady. 

“She... She was my boss at the kitchen before _Lupin._ She was older, smarter, attractive, and for some reason she seemed interested in me. We dated for months, then for Thanksgiving Mom persuaded me to bring her around. I think she was sad ‘cause it was the first Thanksgiving Laura wasn’t attending, and Thanksgiving was a _big deal_ in our family, like everyone came from all over the country.

“So I turned up, new girlfriend in tow, everyone was happy enough, even if they weren’t sure about Kate they were happy enough that _I_ was happy.”

Stiles braced himself because there was no way this story ended with Kate and Derek getting married and having 2.6 children.

“She...” Derek cleared his throat. “She was mentally unstable and she apparently had found out my family had a load of money. I went to the store to pick of some milk or something, and she-”

He took in a ragged breath. Stiles regretted pushing this issue, what kinda asshole pushes someone like that anyway? If Derek had _wanted_ to tell him then he would have. Stiles was a dick.

“She stole some shit and burnt down the house, locked everyone inside, I came back to find the place up in flames I... I tried-”

Stiles hopped up to his feet and jumped onto the bed next to Derek, swinging an arm around him as bile twisted in his gut. Fuck, he hadn’t thought something like _this_ had happened, he didn’t _know_ what he’d thought, but all his family dying in a fire? Fuck. 

“Shhhh,” Stiles said. Derek wasn’t crying but Stiles wasn’t sure what else to do when someone told you that their ex had burned their entire family alive. 

They sat there, silent for a while, until the smell of burning food wafted into the room.

“Shit!” Derek said immediately, as he leapt from the bed, Stiles trailing behind him and they followed the trail of smoke into the kitchen. 

Stiles swung open the window as Derek pulled out a charred black hunk of meat from the oven.

They both stood in silence, staring at the meat. 

Derek moaned, “Why does nothing ever go right?”

Stiles laughed, “Well, look we’ll put the sauce back on and figure out something, it’ll be okay.”

They cooked some pasta and mixed it with left over sauce Derek had in the fridge, then for desert there was a pre-prepared apple pie they put in the oven. 

Isaac arrived home just as the pie came out of the oven and the three of them sat in the kitchen, Isaac complaining about the service while they all tucked into the pudding.

Stiles, as subtly as he could, checked that Isaac planned to spend Thanksgiving with Derek whenever they weren’t working, Derek shot him a look, but Stiles ignored it.

 

**~**

 

The next day Stiles texted Laura before he left, to let her know Derek’s roommate Isaac would be with him all of Thanksgiving when he wasn’t working. She texted him back a smiley face and nothing else.

He managed to drag Scott out of his bed at 7 o’clock, and bounced around the house, making last checks that all the plugs were off and the window’s locked, then piled the sleepy twenty-something into the back of his jeep, wrapped up in blankets and started driving.

The first three hours of the trip were mostly silent, Stiles drumming away on the wheel of his car while Scott slept soundly in the backseat. Around ten they pulled over at a dinner for brunch.

Scott ordered two full breakfasts, while Stiles ordered a bacon sandwich.

He grimaced after taking the first bite.

“What’s wrong, ‘ude?” Scott asked, before wolfing more beans into his mouth. 

“Nothing, this bacon sandwich is just... wrong. The bacon fat’s all soft, not crispy like Derek makes it.”

Scott rolled his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stiles snapped.

Scott just grinned at him with one side of his mouth and went back to eating two people’s worth of food.

They headed back to the car, tipping generously before they went - working in the service industry would do that to you. 

Scott piled into the front, grinning at Stiles.

“What, is there something on my face?” Stiles asked as they pulled out of the car park and back onto the highway.

“Nah, nothing man, it’s just good to see you. Feels like we’ve not hung-out in _forever._ ”

Stiles glanced over at Scott who was grinning from ear to ear. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Even though we live together, we don’t see each other all that much anymore.”

Scott hit the stereo on, and popped in the playlist Stiles had prepared years before when they’d first moved away and started annual road trip home for the holidays. It’d started out on a CD and had moved onto an iPod playlist when he’d finally sorted out compatibility for his jeep stereo, and they’d promised to never take a song off of it, only ever add things on.

It was a bit retro in places, but heck, there was nothing like singing songs from your childhood at the top of your lungs as you cruised along the highway slightly too fast. 

By hour 6 of their journey, Stiles brought up Allison. 

“Dude, I hate to bring it up, but man, I heard you and All’ yelling the night before last.”

Scott slunk back further in his chair. 

“-And I mean, I wasn’t gonna push it, but then I woke up yesterday to the note saying you were coming back to Beacon Hills for thanksgiving. I’m thrilled your coming back, it’s been too long since you saw your mom in the flesh and not across a Skype screen, but still-”

“Stiles,” Scott said, bring his ramble to a stop. “Just... just breath.”

Stiles sighed.

“I got fired man, the Argents, well, they weren’t happy with me moonlighting.”

“That’s bull!” Stiles exclaimed

“Stiles-”

“Nah, man, they cut your hours down to almost _zilch_ , and then have the cheek to fire you for having to get some work on the side?! Nu uh, they can’t do that!” Stiles banged his fist down on the steering wheel. “Fuck, that’s unfair. Christ, what did Allison have to say about it?”

“Uh, Allison wasn’t too happy with me. I hadn’t told her that I was picking up work on the side technically.”

Stiles stomach sunk. “God, Scott.”

Stiles looked over at Scott out of the corner of his eye, like really _looked_ at him, for the first time he had in years. It was like those times when you don’t visit your grandparents for a while and then when they do you have the awful realization that they’re _old_ now, and they’re nothing like what you imagined them to be.

Scott at some point had managed to become a _grown-up_ , and it wasn’t like when they were nineteen and believed that being an adult amounted to doing laundry regularly and not having any mould growing in your apartment, it was in all the awful compromises you were forced to make just to keep going.

He looked _different_ even to the image in Stiles head, which was still of the goofy 16 year old, with floppy hair. Sure he was still all heart, and his facial default expression seemed to be ‘ _bemused’_ , but he was still older in a million inconceivable ways.

“Stiles, buddy?” Scott asked, concerned. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Stiles shook his head and returned his eyes to the road. “I’m fine.”

 

~

 

Mrs McCall cried when Scott bundled out of the car and wrapped her up in a hug. She held onto him tightly and then when they finally separated she pulled Stiles over and hugged him too. He buried his nose in her neck inhaling the warm familiar scent. _Home._

It had been too long. 

Stiles helped unpack the boot, but didn’t hang around long, it was past five and he knew that his dad would order pizza to welcome him home, and he needed to try and prevent him from ordering the meat feast.

(“I’m a grown man Stiles, I can feed myself.”

“Yeah, feed yourself to the _hospital_!”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Your face doesn’t make sense.”)

He let himself in, and found the Sheriff sat at the kitchen countertop, beer in hand. His eyebrows raised and he fuckin’ _beamed_ at Stiles as he headed into the kitchen.

“Hi, Dad,” Stiles grinned.

“Stiles,” he said, getting to his feet and pulling Stiles in for a hug. “It’s been too long.”

It turned out he was too late to prevent the cholesterol-nightmare that was his father’s take away order, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind too much, especially when the pizza was _so good_ , and he was too happy at seeing his father for the first time in over a year. 

“Sooo,” Stiles said, waggling his eyebrows. “Have you met anyone special yet? Maybe a lady Sheriff?”

“Stiles,” his dad warned. 

“I’m not hearing a nooooo,” Stiles sing-songed.

“Stiles.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll leave it be. You’ll tell me when you’re ready,” Stiles reached over and pinched his dad’s cheek.

“This conversation is entirely reversed. When are you gonna tell me about this new partner of yours?” his dad grumbled.

“What?” Stiles asked, head snapping up. 

The Sheriff grinned slyly. “That got your attention.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about... I’m not dating anyone,” Stiles said, eyebrows furrowed together.

“Well, someone’s certainly got you smitten, now tell me about her,” he said, before adding; “or him.”

“ _Dad,”_ Stiles whined.

“What? Don’t give me that look.” 

 

**δ**

 

“Stiles, I know this part,” his dad said exasperatedly. “I was _there.”_

“Yeah, but Derek doesn’t. Plus for the sake of complete story telling, let me tell it, I’ll promise to make sure it’s the cliff notes version.”

John sighed and nodded, before reaching over a hand and patting the rigid Derek on his shoulder. “I’m sorry about your family, son.”

Derek nodded, “It’s fine, I mean, I’m fine.”

Stiles patted his knee consolingly and decided the best course of action was distraction. “So yeah, anyway as I was saying, I was whining to Dad about how hopeless we were-”

 

**δ**

 

“There’s nothing to tell,” Stiles grumbled, picking up another slice of pizza. He gulped down a slice bigger than he previously thought possible. “It’s a hopeless crush the likes I’ve not had since I first met Lydia.”

His dad looked at him sympathetically. “Are you really sure it’s so hopeless?”

Stiles slumped his head into his hands. “Completely.”

They sat and finished their pizza in a comfortable silence, and when Stiles got up to go to bed the Sheriff patted his shoulder.

“Well, kiddo, I’m glad to have you back.”

“Me too, Dad.”

Stiles sloped up stairs, heading into his childhood bedroom which was still the same as he left it, and stripped off his clothes before collapsing onto his bed.

He picked up his phone, and thumbed through the messages.

He sent one to Erica first.

**-on the way home we stopped @ a diner and the waitress looked like she wanted to shank me. It reminded me of you, hope you’re enjoying working, bitch.**

Then to Lydia.

**-letting you know i’ve arrived safe, side note, Allison and Scott had a big blow out ‘cause Allison’s parents found out he was moonlighting and fired him. He’s come to Beacon hills for Thanksgiving.**

He puzzled over texting Derek when Lydia’s reply came through, the vibration of his phone startling him into flinging his phone across the room.

“Urgh,” Stiles whined, wondering if it was worth getting out of bed.

He decided it wasn’t, turned off his lamp, rolled over, and went to sleep. 

 

**~**

 

He woke up at 7:30 in the morning, as the bedside clock cheerfully informed him. Ever since he’d gotten into his twenties and had a regular job he was incapable of a lie in anymore. Maybe by the end of his vacation his sleep cycle would be out of sync again, but until then he was stuck. 

He pulled on a shirt and some sweat pants, picked his phone up from the floor and leafed through the new messages as he headed down stairs.

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles said, without looking up from his phone.

“Morning, I’ll be back from work about five,” his dad said, bustling around him.

“I hope that coffee’s decaf,” Stiles said, as his dad grabbed the portable cup from beside the kettle.

The sheriff rolled his eyes. “Keep out of trouble,” he said, and he was out the house with a bang.

Stiles sleepily hit the kettle on, slumping against the kitchen countertop as he waited on his brain waking up like the rest of his body.

There was a text from Lydia, one from Erica and one from Scott, he checked Lydia’s first.

**-Thanks for keeping me up to date with the gossip Stilinski; I’ve taught you well.**

Stiles rolled his eyes. Next up was Erica;

**-Glad to know your safe, derek’s been pining all night asswipe.  - E**

Stiles frowned at the phone and quickly typed out a reply.

**-Derek doesn’t pine**

**-If Derek were a puppy he’d be pacing the door waiting on your return, it’s pathetic. - E**

**-You’re pathetic.**

**-Great comback stillwell. Now if you excuse me I’m going to go have morning sex. - E**

**-1st, ew, 2nd, stillwell? and 3rd, you know you don’t have to sign off after every txt, right?**

**-Autocorrect, now it’s really hard to blow someone and text so go away. -E**

Stiles shuddered, and opened Scott’s text. 

**-dude, u wanna play video games?**

It was like they’d never moved from home. 

 

 

**~**

 

Being home for the holiday’s was a relatively uneventful, and the days leading up to Thanksgiving were long and kinda boring. His dad still had to work so he mostly spent time goofing off with Scott like they did in high school. He texted Lydia a few times, Erica as well, but whenever he tried to text Derek everything that came out just seemed incredibly immature and stupid. 

So he didn’t, at least not until Thanksgiving came around.

Thanksgiving had become a joint affair between the Stilinski-McCall household when Stiles and Scott were 12 years old, and Mrs McCall had to work on Thanksgiving. Scott and Stiles had slaved all day over the hob trying to cook a full Thanksgiving dinner. It was awkward and a bit burnt in places, due to Stiles fear of undercooking it and giving them all food poisoning, but it was the first full Thanksgiving dinner any of them had had in years. 

“Scott, what time did you put that turkey in?” Stiles asked, looking up from mashing the veg. 

“Uh, I dunno, lemmie have a look,” Scott said. Stiles stepped out of the way of the oven, leaning over Scott to the hob to continue mashing.

Scott tilted up the turkey, examining the juices running from it. “I’d say ten to fifteen minutes, all the sides gonna be ready?”

“Yeah, should be fine.”

“Dude, what even is that you’re making?” Scott said, looking at the green mush in Stiles pot.

“Just trust me on this one,” Stiles said, before pouring a plate full of small diced bacon pieces into the pot, along with half a block of butter. “It’s got bacon and butter in it, everyone’s gonna love it, all we’ve gotta do is make sure my dad doesn’t eat too much.”

“We had a deal, Stiles!” His dad called from the sofa where he had exiled him and Scott’s mom hours ago. “For Holidays I can eat what I like, and you don’t get to say a thing.”

“Yeah, that’s only enforced if you’ve been sticking to your diet, which I know you’ve _not,_ so...”

Scott rolled his eyes, “Give him a break Stiles, it’s Thanksgiving!”

Stiles scowled, and went back to preparing the sides.

There was way too much food, as per usual. Stiles was actually planning on sending half of it in with the Sheriff to the station the next day to help get rid of it, keeping back a small portion for them to take home with them. 

“So,” the Sheriff said, as Scott put the turkey in the middle of the table. It glistened and the smell of food filled the room. The turkey was the only food on the small kitchen table, the rest was in a buffet set up along the kitchen table. “Dig in?”

“Yeah, Dad, dig in.”

After the meal, when they were all slower, quite a lot fuller and a fair bit drunker, Stiles headed out back to call Derek.

It almost rung out before he picked up, sounding breathless.

“Stiles, sorry, was in the kitchen.”

“Oh, do you want me to phone back later?”

‘Nah, they can cope without me for five,” Derek said, breathing returning to normal. “We’re in a lull and the only thing _anyone’s_ ordering is turkey. Seriously, it was a _waste_ to have other options on the menu.”

Stiles smiled, staring out at his back yard, he had a warm buzz from the alcohol flowing around his veins, which probably prompted him to say what he did.

“Miss you, idiot,” he mumbled. “Get back to service, they’ll be lost without you.”

There was a moment of silence and Stiles panicked and hung up the phone.

_Fuck._

 

**~**

 

Scott and Stiles drive back to Portland was not as fun as the drive back to Beacon Hills, for several reasons, but the first and foremost being Stiles incapacitating hangover.

It was so bad that Scott was driving, while Stiles lay wrapped up in the passengers seat moaning about how the world was a horrible, evil place, and that he never should’ve trusted those advertisements for tequila.

Scott chuckled, and turned up the radio.

“You’re a dick, and just know that I hate you,” Stiles muttered through bleary eyes, as he snuggled closer to the window.

 

 

**~**


	5. The Prince returns to his Kingdom for Much Feasting and Merriment

“This is taking too long,” John interrupted. “Seriously Stiles, can we not cut to the chase?”

“I’m getting into this now,” Stiles laughed. “It’s great fun.”

“I was _there_ for the last part of that story, I really didn’t need to hear you lamenting about how bored you were while I was at work.”

“But Derek did,” Stiles argued.

“No, no I didn’t.”

Stiles glared at him. “You’re meant to be on my side.”

“Stiles, the only way I’m going to get through this story alive is if we order in some Pizza.”

Stiles frowned, but then rolled his eyes, “Fine, but a _vegetable_ pizza at least. You’re meant to be on a low cholesterol diet! Low cholesterol, salt, fat, y’know, all the tastey stuff.”

“We’re getting a Meat lovers,” John insisted, getting to his feet and grabbing his phone. “Derek, what do you think?”

Derek looked between the Sheriff and his grumpy son, “Uh, meat please.”

“Brown nose-er,” Stiles muttered as the Sheriff grinned at Derek. “So _anyway_ , as I was saying, Scott and I had just arrived home, and I was _starving-”_

 

**ε**

 

By the time they got back home again, it was 12 o’clock. The two of them trudged up the stairs, Stiles hangover finally worn off enough so that he could truly appreciate and complain about the gnawing hunger in his gut with every step, only taking a break to complain about how his mouth tasted like ass. 

“I’m serious man,” Stiles said, when they were on the second floor. “I would literally eat a kangaroo testicle.”

“Stiles, we have _two_ more flights of stairs.”

“Yeah, and if someone said to me, ‘You can have deep fried kangaroo nut right here and now, or you can go up another two flights and cook yourself steak’ I’d take the balls, every time.”

They were on the third floor now. “I liked you when you were hungover and quiet,” Scott said, shuffling the bags under his arms to get a better grip. Stiles was still wrapped up in his travel blanket, hooded over his head making him look like a child, limping up the stairs slowly. 

They reach the fourth floor and realize that neither of them had gotten their keys out, so Stiles gave an over exaggerated moan, and dropped his rucksack.

“I’m like 90% sure that the keys are in my pocket,” Scott said, thrusting his hip out.

“If this is your way of getting me to cop a feel, you could’ve just _asked,_ ” Stiles grinned, reaching into the back pocket of Scott’s sweats.

Scott rolled his eyes, as Stiles pulled the key out and tried to unlock the door, but all he seemed to do was lock it.

Scott frowned, “Fuck, you’re kidding me, you didn’t lock the door?!”

“Oh god, well there goes all our stuff,” Stiles moaned, pushing open the door.

But there was a cheer as they shuffled their way in (Stiles dragging his rucksack along behind him because he was too lazy to pick it back up,) and they saw all their friends waiting for them in the living room, drinking their all booze.

“I regret giving Lydia a key,” Stiles said, as they bundled in. Erica was pulling him into a firm hug, pushing down his makeshift hood, while Allison had flung herself at Scott in what was most likely supposed to be a romantic manor but considering they hadn’t seen each other in a week, and they were in a fight when Scott left, it turned out to be just kinda desperate and messy looking. 

 _“_ Guys, no, _bad_! Scott,don’t make me get the water bottle!”

They broke apart laughing as Stiles tried (and failed) to look threatening.

“Stiles, you smell like a liquor cabinet,” Erica scolded.

“Well, I drankthe vast majority of one last night,” he countered as she smacked him around the back of the head.

Stiles laughed as he pushed the back into his house, Isaac was sitting sprawled out on the couch, bottle of beer in hand and a glassy expression across his face, his shirt was pushed up around his armpits. His chest was _fucking_ glistening, and Stiles had never really been all that attracted to Isaac before, but he couldn’t help enjoying the view. He’d never realized that he’d had abs like that, was Stiles the only one of them _without_ abs?

 _“Stiles!”_ Lydia called, she was slumped on the floor next to the couch. _“_ We’re doing _body shots,_ come join us!”

Stiles laughed, holding up his hands, “Oh no, not for me, I just want to sit down.”

Lydia pouted ( _fucking pouted!)_ at him, and moved her arms slightly to push her cleavage together. He knew the move she was attempting, and it was a lot more affective when she was sober.

“Lydia, no!” he said firmly, as Scott and Allison appeared behind him, apparently finished with their make-out session.

Allison was also drunker than first anticipated, hanging off of Scott like if she let go she’d fall over. Stiles wondered vaguly if that meant they were fine again, but he didn’t obsess on it; he knew he’d find out soon enough.

“Scott, you’ll do it, won’t you?” Lydia asked, eyes wide.

Scott paused a minute before shrugging. “Yeah, why the hell not? Who am I shotting off of?”

“You can ‘hot off of Boyd,” Lydia said.

That was defiantly the messiest he’d ever seen Lydia, she was usually completely in control of herself and her surroundings, Stiles couldn’t believe she let herself get this drunk. 

Stiles looked over to the armchair where Boyd was sat with a bottle of whiskey in hand not looking partiularly enthusiastic.

“He’ll do what now?” Boyd asked. 

“Don’t be a spoilt sport, Boyd,” Lydia said, dragging him by the hand to the couch.

“Yeah, Boyd,” Erica said, with a smirk, “Don’t be a “Spoilt-Sport”.” 

Isaac was in the kitchen now, wiping the sticky saliva and salt off of his belly. Derek was perched on one of the stools at the island, drink in hand, but was easily the next soberest to Erica, who maybe looked like she’d had one drink. 

Boyd sighed and lay down on the couch, Lydia pushing up his shirt and licking a line down to his bellybutton. 

“Now, first the salt,” she said, sprinkling the salt along the wet strip. “Then the shot,” she poured Tequila into Boyd’s belly button. “Then the lemmon,” she poped a slice of lemon between Boyd’s teeth.

Scott was a quick, efficient shot taker, and did his body shot with no fuss, which was met with a cheer.

“I wanna do one!” Allison yelled, as Boyd sat up and grabbed the cloth Isaac had thrown him to clean up. 

“Christ they’re drunk,” Stiles said to Erica.

“Yup, they’re like children, or frat boys.”

Stiles laughed as Scott was pushed down onto the couch and set up for a body shot. 

Stiles headed through to the kitchen, grabbed an ice pack out of the fridge, and some cold pizza from a box on the countertop before he headed through to the living rom and plonked himself down on the other couch next to Erica.

“So, why are you not drinking?” Stiles asked, noting that she seemed overly sober compared to the rest of them.

She pulled out a dog tag necklace around her neck. “Messes with the medication if I drink to much.”

“Oh right, epilepsy. Sorry, I forgot.”

 

**ε**

 

“I forgot to mention that, didn’t I?” Stiles mused, as the doorbell went off.

“Yeah, you did,” John said, getting to his feet. “Erica’s got Epilepsy?”

“Yeah, her meds keep it pretty well under control but we all know what to do if she has a fit or that, just incase,” Stiles explained. “That the Pizza?”

“Yeah, I’ll get it,” John said, heading out to the hallway, wallet in hand.

Stiles turned to Derek, who was frowning. 

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just... I mean you said it was weird, Lydia doesn’t _get_ that drunk, like I’ve never seen it other than that night, she’s always in control.”

“What, you think she was faking?”

“I dunno, maybe?”

“But why would she-” Stiles stopped dead. “Her over arcing plan. Christ, why is that girl just a hotel manager?”

“I dunno, I think she likes it, it gives her more energy to mess with us,” Derek grinned. 

Stiles groaned, “What is this over arcing plan? Christ, we’re never gonna know are we? It’s just gonna happen and we’ll have no idea she orchestrated it. Maybe it’s Scott and Allison moving in together?”

“Stiles, this story is long enough, stop getting side tracked,” John said, coming back into the room clutching two pizza boxes. “Help yourself guys, one Meat Lovers for you guys and one Chicken and Grilled Veg for me.”

Slightly mollified by the healthier option his dad had chosen, Stiles tucked into the other pizza lamenting about how long it had been since he’d had real, proper junk food. 

“So anyway,” he said between mouthfuls, cheese sticking to his chin and tomato sauce smeared up his lips. “I was talking to Erica and Lydia was making people do body shots,” Stiles started.

“Do I really need to know this?”

“Absolutely. Anyway-”

**ε**

 

“Nah, it’s fine, I’ve got it mostly under control nowadays,” Erica said putting her dog tags away.

Stiles slumped back against the couch, and grinned as Derek was pulled away from his sport lurking in the kitchen and.

“You need to be _drunk_ , Derek, drunker-er,” Lydia slurred, pushing him onto the couch. “We can get someone to do a shot off of you. 

“Making someone do a shot off _me_ , won’t get me drunk,” Derek argued as Lydia pulled his shirt up over his head.

Lydia tilted her head, considering this, before picking up the bottle of tequila and holding it to Derek’s face. “Open wide!”

Derek rolled his eyes, but complied and tipped back his head and opened his mouth. Lydia poured Tequila down his throat and he drank without a grimace, just a steady swallow after he pushed the bottle away. 

“Now who’s going to do a shot off of you?” Lydia asked, getting to her feet. Her eyes narrowed on Stiles.

“Me? Oh no, I told you, I’m not drinking tonight, my blood is still like 50/50 liquor anyway.”

Lydia sighed. “Fine, I’ll do it,” she said, she said pushing his shoulder so he was lying down on the couch.

Stiles had a mini-heart attack upon the sight of Derek’s abs. They looked like someone had photoshopped them on, seriously what did the guy do; _constant_ sit ups when he wasn’t working? He was a _chef_ , chef’s were supposed to be pudgy at best. 

Lydia’s pink tongue darted out, licking a strip above Derek’s belly button, before pouring salt over it, then tequila into his belly button, and finally slotting a piece of lime into his lips. 

Derek grimaced as Lydia licked along his abs, then sucked up the shot and finally moved back up biting the lime from between his lips.

There was a cheer from everyone else, as Derek righted himself and wiped down his (glorious) abs with the same dishcloth Boyd threw at him. 

“Stiles!” Lydia sing-song-ed, skipping over and trying to drag him by the hand to the couch.

“I told you Lyds, I’m not drinking, I can’t face it.”

“I can make Derek take a body shot off of you though,” she said, grinning evilly as she tugged on his hand.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Stiles said, as everyone laughed around him. “Guys, this isn’t fair.”

He allowed himself to be tugged onto the couch, because he knew it was easier than the alternative.

“Seriously, you guys all have like...” Stiles gestured at the shirtless Derek, who seemed to _wobble_ slightly. “ _Abs, a_ nd I’ve got... Negative Abs. I’ve got _Nabs!”_

“Nabs aren’t a thing,” Lydia said as she yanked up his shirt and pushed him onto his back. “See, you’re fine. Derek, tell him he’s fine.”

“God, Lydia,” Stiles whined. “Do you really have to-”

“You’re fine,” Derek interrupted. 

 _You’re fine,_ What did that mean? Did fine mean like ‘damn girl, you fiiiiinnnnneee’ or did he mean fine as in ‘passable, but not-

Stiles was ripped from his train of thought by the wet sensation of Lydia licking his torso. He glanced down and met her eyes. He thought absently that if you’d told him 3 years ago that Lydia would be licking his stomach and he wouldn’t be turned on, then he probably would’ve told you to punch himself, and remind himself of the glorious goddess that was Lydia Martin. 

It wasn’t that she wasn’t attractive, she was still Lydia, it was just that he didn’t really... _care_ all to much. Whatever, one problem at a time.

She sprinkled the salt on his stomach and he felt the chill of the alcohol in his belly button. The skin of a lime was placed between his lips finally and Lydia ordered him to hold still. 

Then suddenly there was the heat of the flat of Derek’s tongue against his abs, licking a slow stripe down the centre of his stomach. Stiles looked down, and _oh god_ , that was hot. That was super hot and it was going to show if he wasn’t carful.

Lips sealed over his belly button, sucking out the liquor, and Stiles head fell back against the arm of the couch, eyes screwed tightly shut. That shouldn’t have been so god damn _sexy._

Stiles felt a tongue probing, at his belly button briefly and his eyes flew open, fists clenching in the sofa cushions. 

 _“Fuck_ ” he muttered as softly keeping the lime between his teeth, and then Derek’s face was above his, grinning. He opened his mouth and pinched the lime from Stiles. Their lips touched briefly but it couldn’t be called a kiss by any stretch of the imagination. 

Stiles shut his eyes, and he heard the cheer of his friends as Derek got to his feet. He sat up, and Isaac flung a cloth at his head (he didn’t catch it, and it landed with a cold smack on his face) which he used to wipe off his stomach. 

He looked over to see a very drunk Derek grinning at him, and he winced. 

He was well and truely fucked.

 

**~**

 

Stiles woke up on his arm chair (thinking to himself that this happened to much for someone who was apparently a ‘grown-up’) to see his friends rushing around him in a frantic bubble. 

“Christ, is someone driving? Cause we’re all gonna be super late if not,” Scott yelled from the bathroom. Stiles heard a gargle and the wet slap of spit hitting the sink.  

“I’m not driving, I’m still fucked,” Derek growled from the floor. Derek was wrapped up in a Duvet on the floor, legs tucked underneath the coffee table. 

“I can’t drive,” Erica said. “Seizure laws and all that, they won’t give me a license.”

Erica grinned across the breakfast bar at them all.

“I’m not good to drive,” Boyd said from the couch. Stiles looked over at him, he knew Boyd had been drinking the previous night but he didn’t remember him being as wasted as the obvious hangover would suggest. 

Lydia appeared from his bedroom. “I got a lift over here, my car’s still at my place and I can’t drive a stick.”

A crazy amount of the chefs seem to drive a stick shift. 

Stiles yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Well, well, well,” he grinned, pushing himself slowly to his feet.  “Look, at everyone trying to convince me to drink last night come crawling back to Stiles.”

“No one’s crawling back,” Lydia snipped. “Go back to sleep, Stiles.”

“Really?” he asked, grinning slyly at her. “You don’t want a lift to work, do you?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “As your boss, I order you to give me a ride.”

“You’re not my boss,” Stiles grumbled.

Lydia looked at him archly. “Yes I am.”

“Fine, everyone get in the car, before I change my mind,” Stiles said, yawning. Christ he was tired, he’d spent _way_ too much time in his car over the last few days. Stiles got to his feet and picked up the car keys sitting on the table. His stomach seemed sticky and gross still, and his eyes were crusted up with sleep. He needed a shower, he hadn’t had one since the night of morning of Thanksgiving.

Stiles opened up the door, and yelled for everyone to hurry up. Scott was out the door first, whites in his arm, Isaac following afterwards then finally Lydia trotted past, pristine looking as usual. 

The drive to work was quiet, only interrupted by the occasional yelp as Isaac was prodded back awake. Scott was in a particularly grouchy mood because Derek had told him to be in early to put in the orders for the week, usually he would’ve have needed to start for another half hour. 

(‘I don’t even work there Stiles,” Scott whinned to him. “Why am I getting put on all the shit shifts?”

“Dude, you _kinda_ work there.”

Scott glared at him. “Not the point.”)

Stiles suggested that they doused themselves in air freshener to cover the stench of tequila as they all left his car, this was not appreciated.

By the time he got home again, at 6:45am (god, it was too early for this shit) Erica was up and cooking breakfast while singing cheerily out of key. 

“Urgh, Stiles, make her stop,” Boyd moaned from the couch. “Pleeeeeeeease.”

Stiles flung his keys into the dish and hopped up onto the kitchen counter, “I don’t even give a shit about the time anymore, or the singing. You’re a goddess, marry me.”

Erica flung him a look over her shoulder, smiling archly at him, “I think Boyd might have something to say about that, just a heads up.”

Stiles looked over to the couch where Boyd was lying face down, with nothing but a pair of gray boxer shorts on. Boyd raised a hand at them to signal his consciousness, but didn’t move in any other way. 

“I’d be more afraid if it didn’t look like moving would kill him,” Stiles said, turning back to Erica. She’d put down toast on the countertop and he started to chew on a slice.

Erica turned back to Stiles and wiped a hand across her head. “It’s too hot in here,” she said.

Stiles shrugged, he was only in a pair of shorts and T-shirt, but his skin was starting to get a bit clammy. 

“You’re cooking, and the living room window’s broke, we can’t get any air in here,” Stiles explained. 

Erica frowned and reached down, pulling her shirt over her head leaving her in just a crop top.

“I feel like you guys are getting too comfortable around me now,” Stiles observed idely, consiously not looking anywhere but Erica’s eyes.

Erica rolled her eyes, “C’mon Stiles, it’s not like you’d notice me if I was tap dancing naked on the countertop, plus I saw your abs last night when Hale was doing that body shot, we’re even.”

Then, Boyd, (beautiful, glorious, Boyd) shuffled to his feet. “Stop teasing Stiles, Erica, the poor guy’s gonna have an aneurism.”

Erica let out a laugh as Stiles continued to stare at her eyes. She pulled on an apron over her head, covering herself up slightly. 

“Derek, Allison! Up you get,” Erica yelled. “Breakfast!”

There was a groan from Scott’s room, and a thump, then Allison came shuffling out wearing Scott’s T-shirt, boxers and socks pulled up to her knees. 

Derek meanwhile was sitting on the floor wrapped up in the duvet looking confused. 

“You all right there, Der?” Erica asked.

“Where’s my clothes?” he asked, groggily. 

Boyd held up his arm, which had a large gash reaching from his wrist to elbow. “You used them to clean up a spill. It made sense when you were drunk.”

Stiles sniggered.

Derek groaned and got to his feet in nothing but his boxers, (yup, his friends were _way_ to comfortable around him) and hobbled his way over to the kitchen. 

“Still a bit drunk there, Derek?” Stiles asked. Derek glared at him, but it wasn’t very effective with his bleary sleep filled eyes.

“Erica, you’re doing it wrong,” he grumbled, reaching for the pan. Erica hit him on the back of his hand with her spatula. 

“I’m new to this chef malarky but I can cook bacon, you can fuck off, Derek,” Erica snapped. Derek frowned but shuffled back around to the other side of the breakfast bar.

Christ, could he put on a shirt or something? It was distracting. Stiles could get a better view of his tattoo now though, it was three spirals radiating out from in between his shoulder blades, plan black, but starting to show it’s age and fading slightly.

God it was hot though, Stiles could picture him on all fours, tattoo rippling-

 _Focus_ , Stiles, he thought to himself, trying to banish the wildly innapropriate thoughts.

Erica plated up a pile of bacon and sausages, and put them down on the countertop with the order to _wait._

Next up was a pile of toast, and then finally five mugs of coffee and they were all allowed to dig in. 

Erica and Stiles by far ate the most, wolfing down bacon and sausages like they’d be taken away if they waited; Allison poked at some dry toast and drank half a cup of coffee; Boyd got half way through his breakfast before he paled and pushed his plate away; and Derek...

Well, Derek still seemed drunk.

Erica left Boyd and Derek for cleaning up and curled up on the couch, Allison tucking herself in the corner ontop of her legs. Stiles plonked himself down on the floor, pulling a blanket around his shoulders and switched on the TV.

They ended up watching Mean Girls, Boyd settling himself on the couch between Erica and Allison, and Derek joining Stiles down on the floor and stealing some of his blanket, after apparently finding sweat pants and a T-shirt in Scotts room to wear.

Stiles dozed off at the point where Cady turned into ‘hardy, _shiny_ plastic!” and awoke with his head on Derek’s shoulder when the movie ended. He put on Iron Man after that, but got to his feet and started to clean. Erica refused to help on principal and Boyd was moaning about his head, but Derek and Allison got to their feet and gathered all the glass bottles that were lying around, while Allison wiped down the counter tops and put away any left over drink.

Derek’s hangover started to hit him hard during Iron Man, his face paling as he sunk down lower and lower till he was lying down with a hand over his eyes moaning whenever Stiles moved the blanket.

After Iron Man, Boyd got to his feet, showered, and headed out to work, Erica and Allison spreading out to take up the new space, then Stiles put on The Incredible Hulk.

Around half way through The Incredible Hulk Scott and Isaac appeared back, forcing themselves onto the couch and generally making too much noise, which caused a groan to be ripped from Derek, before he rolled over and pulled a pillow over his ears.

They all remained curled up for the rest of the day, Scott heading back to work after the finale of Iron Man 2 and Isaac following half way through Thor.  There was a phone call for take out during the break between Thor and Captain America, then there was the resulting argument when the doorbell rung about who had to extract themselves to let the delivery boy in.

(Stiles lost; Derek’s hangover had advanced to stage IV as Stiles liked to call it, i.e. the grunting-and-moaning-as-his-only-forms-of-communication; Erica was, well, _Erica,_ and Allison just pouted slightly and Stiles didn’t have the heart to make her do it.)

“Derek’s hangovers are the most adorable thing,” Stiles said, as he tucked into his third slice of Pizza. They’d gotten 5 larges, assuming that the workers would be joining them after their shifts finished and would want fed. 

Derek was still nibbling his first slice, face pale and lips dry and cracked.

“Adorable?” Erica asked, archly.

“Yeah, I mean, he’s this big, hulking, mean-”

“Thanks,” Derek interrupted. “Don’t hold back now.”

Stiles waved his hand dismissively, “-chef on the outside, but then if you put to much alcohol into him he just curls up into a ball and moans all day like a teenager having their first hangover.”

There was a moment of silence before Derek said “I honestly don’t know why I’m friends with you guys.”

He put the half eaten slice of pizza back into the box and slumped back down into his blanket. 

“No one else will have you,” Erica said quickly. “You need some water there, Der?”

“No, no liquid,” he whined.

Erica headed through to the kitchen anyway, and brought him back some water, which he attempted to drink but ended up having to run to throw it back up in the toilet two minutes later.

 

**~**

 

The next day Stiles was on a split as he was covering a dinner shift for Erica. She had pulled in a favour so that she could have a fancy dinner with Boyd to celebrate their anniversary, or something like that.

Stiles hadn’t worked a dinner shift since since Scott had started helping out in the kitchen. Stiles liked it that way; he wasn’t a chef and he didn’t want to be a chef anymore. However, pulling the occasional shift was still kind of fun. 

He was on with Derek and Scott; The hotel was empty, only 50 or so people due to come for dinner so they had more than enough staff. Stiles however, was slightly rusty. 

He followed Derek into the big fridge, arms outstretched as he was laden up with sauces and some cooked meat. 

“So, there’s the salad,” Derek said, mostly to himself, dropping a packet of  Feta cheese onto the precarious armful of food. “There’ll be washed leaves in the veg store, and you can get some pine nuts from the dry store, then put ‘em on a tray and grill them. Make sure you _watch_ then under the grill, ‘cause they burn-“

“Derek, I got it, I was a professionally trained chef - I can handle 50 starters.”

“The soup’s on the back hob,” Derek continued. 

“Seriously dude, lemmie set up then you can come check that everything’s up to your standard,” Stiles pleaded, rolling his eyes.

Derek looked over at him, and sighed. “Yes, that’ll be okay, now make sure you’re set up by quarter past six, I don’t want to end up in trouble.”

Stiles nodded, and grinned, before turning and heading back into the kitchen, dropping the supplies on his countertop. Scott was in the sweets section, balling up ice creams, and Derek had followed behind him and now was checking on the state of the main courses.

Stiles set about getting prepped up, ensuring he had all the sauces he required, that the soup on the back was hot enough, that he had a chopping board and knives out, as well as a handful of spoons and a couple tubs of garnishes.

By 6:05 he was set up, so he grabbed a portion of frozen fries and dunked them into the friers, before pulling out a stool and sitting himself down. Derek had headed into the office to do paperwork so Scott sauntered to the other side of the kitchen and leaned against the countertop with a grin. 

Scott pulled off his hat - which was a small black cap just to cover his hair, like Stiles’s, not the massive stereotypical definition of a ‘chef hat’, which was wildly unpractical - and wiped a hand across his forehead.

“I think Boyd’s got the right idea of shaving his head; this is too hot.”

“Scott, it’s winter,” Stiles said, pulling the basket of fries out of the frier and tilting it to pour off the oil. “If you’re this hot now what’s it going to be like in summer?”

“It’ll be fine, ‘cause Derek will have finally fixed the fans,” Scott said stubbornly. 

“Y’know, if you took the job then you could totally get him to fix the fans, being sous chef and all that,’ Stiles said easily. 

Scott stiffened though, and sighed. “Stiles.”

“Sorry dude, just saying.”

“Yeah, and like, it’s a big decision and things with Allison are weird right now so I’d appreciate it if you’d stop bugging me about it!” Scott snapped.

“I’m sorry for wanting to spend time with you-“

“Dude it’s not that I don’t love you dude, ‘cause I do, but like, I love her too.”

“I _know_ you do,” Stiles argued back, hands folded across his chest. “And I’m not jealous of her, or anything like that, I mean, don’t want you to stop spending time with her to spend it with me, but _seriously,_ I just wish you two would sort out whatever the fuck is going on, ‘cause I’m sick of you pining!”

Scott stared at him, rolling Stiles words around in his head, before the corner of his mouth perked up. “I don’t _pine.”_

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Dude, you’re like king of pining.”

“That’s rich, coming from you!” Scott laughed,

“What does that mean?” Stiles said indignantly. Scott blinked at him, before turning around as they heard Derek come into the kitchen.

“Hey Derek,” Scott laughed.

“Scott!” Stiles whined.

Derek frowned, head tilted at them, “What’s happened here?”

Scott laughed harder.

“Nothing, Scott’s just being a dick.”

Derek rolled his eyes, before heading to Stiles station to ensure he was set up. Stiles sat down on a stool and pulled the tray of curly fries over to him, as they waited for service to kick off.

 

**~**

 

“So, really, I have to ask, why do you drive this thing?”

Stiles jumped up quickly, head catching on the corner of the hood of his car as he did so. He swore and pulled back, rubbing his head gingerly.

Derek frowned, stepping closer and forcing Stiles head down so he could peer at his scalp. Stiles flinched, and tried to wiggle away, but Derek just pulled on his ears, forcing him back down.

“Hey, calm it, I think you’re bleeding,” Derek muttered, running a hand over Stiles scalp.

Stiles sighed, looking down at his bloody hands, ‘That’s great.”

Derek let him go and quickly walked over to his car where it was parked two spaces down, pulling open the door and grabbing a cloth from the passenger seat. He threw it at Stiles, “Hold that against it, you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, I know, _mom,”_ Stiles rolled his eyes, before he wiped his hands with the cloth and then held it to the back of his head. 

Derek glared.

“What’s up with the car then?” Derek prodded, slumping against the jeeps door. He was still wearing his chefs whites, but the top button was undone and his hair tousled from being under the hat all day, and it was like a walking dirty fantasy. Stiles bit his lip.

“Think she needs a jump, you got leads?” He said, mentally scolding himself, _get a grip, Stiles, this is ridiculous_.

“No, sorry,” Derek shook his head. “I can give you a lift home tonight and you can get her in the morning though?”

Stiles sighed, and looked over at the Jeep, hand still clasped to the back of his head. He reached over and slammed down the hood shut, “Yeah, that’s fine, let’s do that.”

Stiles ducked into the still open passenger door of the Camero, as Derek sat down on the hood and slid over to the other side.

“Show off,” Stiles muttered as he got into the drivers side.

“Don’t get blood in my car,” Derek warned.

“I totally wasn’t going to,” Stiles said, purposely leaning forward.

“I mean it, blood is a bitch to get out of the car seats.”

“Why do you know that?!” Stiles whinned, wincing.

Derek ignored him, turning the key in the ignition and switching on the headlights. The car slid out of it’s spot and Stiles lay his head against the window, eyes closing. Scott had gotten away early leaving Stiles and Derek to clean up and there was nothing Stiles wanted more than to sleep. 

“So, can I ask you something?” Derek said.

“I think you just did.”

“Y’know what I mean. Look, why did you stop cooking?”

“Huh?” Stiles blinked, lifting his head off of the window.

“Like, obviously I could see you’ve been trained, and Lydia filled me in, she said you’d been trained as a chef in college, worked your way up some kitchens, but… you’re a housekeeper.”

“Derek,” Stiles said. 

“I mean, do you want to cook? ‘Cause y’know, you could be sous chef if you wanted. Scott’s still not actually said he wants in or anything.”

Stiles sighed, glancing over at Derek who was keeping his eyes firmly on the road. “What’s brought this on?”

“Just… seeing you tonight in the kitchen, you seemed to really enjoy it.”

“I did, but that doesn’t mean I want to be a chef, Derek. I’m not built for the kitchen, I can’t deal with the heat in the summer, or the late nights and the long hours. I mean, I like a shift every now and then, but it’s not what I want to do now.”

Derek nodded. 

“I mean, I like housekeeping. I never thought I would, and yeah, it can get tedious, but I’m really good at it, and I get paid well and every afternoon/evening off.”

Derek tilted his head, “I guess that makes sense. I just wanted to check.”

“Thanks for that,” Stiles said, as Derek pulled up outside his apartment block. He stalled the car underneath a street light, but it was pretty dark, so Derek hit on the car light, turning to face Stiles.

“Lemmie see,” he demanded.

“Huh?” 

“Your head Stiles, let me see the wound.”

Stiles bent his head down compliantly, and Derek gently peeled the cloth away. He gingerly tried to rub off some of the blood, but made a noise of frustration.

“Hold up,” Derek said, reaching back and grabbing a bottle of water from the back seat and wetting the edge of the cloth. 

“You don’t need to- Oh, there we go,” Stiles said, as his head was roughly shoved down again, and Derek wiped off some of the blood from his scalp. He couldn’t really see all that much detail, what with it being pretty dark, but his head was directly pointed at Derek’s crotch. 

“Dude, I’m fine,” Stiles tried. “It’s a little cut.”

“You’re _covered_ in blood, Stiles,” Derek growled. 

“You know head wounds,” Stiles said airily, “Always bleeding, the attention seeking bastards.”

Derek didn’t find it funny, but he let go of Stiles head. “Are you dizzy at all? Have you got a headache?”

“Oh my god, Derek, I’ve not got a concussion, would you stop being so over protective?” Stiles groaned, head rolling back, before he looked up and grinned. “It’s nice to know you care dude, but seriously, I’ve been hitting my head since I was a foetus, don’t worry about me.”

Stiles swung open the door and slid out of the Camaro, and was walking away when the window slid down and Derek’s face appeared, looking uneasy and holding bloody cloth Stiles had used.

“Don’t go to sleep for at least an hour, right?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said, but he smiled slightly before turning and heading back to the apartment block. He dug his keys out of his pocket and had one foot in the door when he turned around to see Derek drive off. 

Stiles chuckled, there was no way he was staying up for another hour, he would be lucky if he had enough energy to shower before he collapsed on his bed. 

 

**~**

 

Work the next day was easy; Lydia drove him in then Stiles spent about half of his shift in the kitchen gossiping with Erica about her date night with Boyd. During December the hotel really emptied out, well at least until New Years rolled around; the hotel was (blessedly) closed for the week containing Christmas, Stiles didn’t know how, but he was sure it was to do with Lydia. 

“Urgh, we’ve got a _demo_ tomorrow,” Erica moaned, spitting the word ‘demo’ out like it was a filthy curse.

Stiles frowned, “Demo?”

“Yeah, Derek says we’re gonna be doing them twice a month now, or at least that’s the aim. Something about making the kitchen seem like a friendlier place to the guests, so they’re not as awkward when they need to talk to us about allergies.”

“That sounds like Scott’s kinda idea,” Stiles said, before taking a bite of the sandwich Erica put down on the countertop next to him.

“Scott doesn’t even work here,” Erica sighed, tipping her head back and exhaling loudly. She was cooking off about five pints worth of pancake batter to freeze for breakfast shifts. She flipped another pancake without paying much attention to it. “I’m gonna _kill_ Scott for this.”

“Scott’s like a puppy, he doesn’t mean anything by it; he just wants everyone to be happy,” Stiles said.

“Kill. Him.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “It can’t be that bad.”

“There’s a reason that I’m not front of house staff, Stiles, and that reason is that I hate people.”

“People aren’t that baa- _Erica!”_

Suddenly there was a crash as Erica hit the floor, limbs convulsing uncontrollably. Stiles leapt down off the kitchen counter, grabbing a dishcloth and shoving it underneath her head to attempt to cushion it. The pancake pan had come down with her and had skidded across the floor but Stiles could see the oil stains in the stomach of her chefs white jacket, and her lip had split when she’d hit the floor, or maybe she’d bit it, Stiles didn’t know, but it was dribbling blood down her chin and onto the floor.

“DEREK!” Stiles hollered, hoping his voice would reach the office. “DEREK COME QUICK!”

Stiles heard someone running out of the office, followed by the clip clop of heels before Derek appeared in the door way of the kitchen almost immediately, Lydia right behind him.

“Shit, Derek, what do we do? Stiles asked.

“Keep supporting her head,” Derek instructed, reaching down to unbutton the chefs whites around her neck. 

“Do we need to call 911?” Stiles asked, voice high and panicked. 

Derek shook his head, “No, as long as she’s not seizing for more than four minutes she’ll be fine, we just need to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.”

Stiles nodded. He knew all this, Erica had been sure to inform him once they’d started hanging out exactly what to do if she had a seizure, but it was very different in theory than in practice.

Stiles shakily cupped her head, trying to keep her on the makeshift pillow as her limbs shuddered and jerked out of control.

“Did she burn herself?” Derek asked, pulling up her shirt to see the red burns on her stomach. “Balls.”

Derek hopped to his feet and ran to the freezer, returning with an ice pack wrapped in towels. 

“Ideally we would get cold water on the burn but this’ll have to do,” he muttered, putting it against Erica’s stomach. The smell of urine started to itch it’s way up to his nose, and Stiles realized with a start that Erica had pissed herself.

The twitching started to still, so they pushed her gently onto her side, Derek holding the ice pack to her stomach as Stiles stroked her hair, until her eyes started to flutter open, groggy and confused.

“Stiles _?”_ she asked, trying to sit up. 

“Hey, Erica, yeah, it’s me, You’re fine, you’re absolutely fine.”

Derek was still pressing an ice pack against her stomach and Lydia was standing in the door way, looking lost.

“Erica, you had a seizure,” Derek murmured. “I think we’re gonna need to take you to the ER about this burn you’ve gotten.”

She frowned, looking down at the ice pack on her stomach. “Uh, yeah, hospital, that sounds good.”

“I’ll drive you,” Derek said. “Stiles can watch the kitchen until Scott get’s here.”

Derek gave Stiles a pointed look, and Stiles hopped up to his feet. “Yeah, Scott, I’ll just phone him now then.”

“Right... can I shower real quick before we go though?” she asked with a slight blush.

“Yeah, no probs Erica, just no hot water on your stomach, okay?” Derek said. “Stiles, you got any empty rooms tonight?”

“Empty rooms? Yeah, loads, I don't’ even know why I’m bothering to work today,” Stiles laughed trying to lighten the mood slightly. “Room five’s free, you can use that one.”

Lydia shot him a look that she was contractually obliged to, since he was her employee. 

Derek helped the shaky Erica to her feet and escorted her from the kitchen. Lydia got to work, yelling for the kitchen porter to get a mop and leaving to phone Scott. 

Stiles slumped back against the countertop, eyes wide, as people worked around him. He was sure he should’ve been making pancakes or something until Scott got there, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of the workbench, he just couldn’t stop staring at the blood on the floor, on his hands.

 

 

**~**

To top Stiles horrific day, around 7 o’clock Scott came in the door.

That in itself wouldn’t have been a reason to top Stiles horrific day if it hadn’t been for the look on Scotts face; hollow shock, like someone had taken a knife and gutted him.

Stiles jumped to his feet and grabbed Scott by the shoulders as he numbly dragged himself through the apartment and fell onto the couch.

“Hey buddy,” Stiles said, rubbing his shoulders before running to the kitchen and pulling out a bottle of Jack Daniels, pouring out an ounce like he used to do for his father. “Scott, dude, it’s okay, it’s okay man, I’m here.”

Stiles flopped down on the couch next to Scott and put the whisky back on the coffee table with the bottle next to it. Scott tossed back the shot and poured himself another.

“Dude, you’re scaring me,” Stiles said, rubbing Scotts arm. “You gotta talk to me.”

“I... uh,” Scott sipped on his second shot. “I said to Derek after he came back from the hospital that I’d take the job.”

“Really, dude, that’s awesome!” Stiles said, enthusiastically. “Did that asshole recind his offer or something? ‘Cause I can talk some sense into him if you want.”

Scott paused, and tossed the second shot back. “I mean, I was unemployed, I _had_ to take the job or else I was gonna end up defaulting onto you for rent. _Again_. And it’s not like it’s a _bad_ job, I mean I’m a _sous chef_ and Derek’s alright now, not like he was back at Lupin.”

Stiles rubbed Scott’s shoulders consolingly, “I know dude, so what’s the problem?”

“What doesn’t she get it?” Scott asked him, blinking. “I mean, what did she expect me to do? Go around jobless and hope that her parents would find some pity and re-hire me?”

“Who are we talking about?” Stiles asked. Scott glared at him. “Allison?”

“I mean, I needed a _job,”_ Scott winced and slumped back against the couch.

He sat, staring at the overhead light with wide eyes before he swallowed. “She dumped me dude, said she couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Aw... shit,” Stiles said with a sigh, slumping back against the couch next to him. ‘“Is there anything I can do man?”

“You can drink with me man. And kill some Aliens.”

Stiles cracked a smile; “What, like real Aliens? ‘Cause I keep trying to tell you man, I just can’t quite get the ships flight codes to work right yet. Maybe in a month.”

Scott’s lip turned up slightly, and he leaned forward to grab the X-Box controler’s, passing one over to Stiles along with a shot of whisky.

 

**~**

 

It wasn’t that Stiles avoided Erica... Except that he kinda totally did.

He was freaked, okay? The reality of her disability had come crashing home when she’d hit the kitchen floor and bust open her lip, twitching and bleeding on Stiles. It wasn’t like Stiles _meant_ to make it all about him, he just didn’t know how to deal with it, so he’d gone to Google and learnt all sorts of other horrible possible complications not to mention the accidents she could have when having a seizure. 

He went three days without seeing Erica before she decided enough was enough and turned up in one of the rooms while he was cleaning the bathtub.

“Hi, Stiles,” she purred, leaning against the doorway. 

Stiles jumped a mile into the air, swearing. “Christ, I need to get you a bell or something.”

Erica rolled her eyes, and slid down to the floor, sitting cross legged. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and t-shirt, and her face was relatively make up free - she must’ve just finished her shift. Her lip was still swollen and there was a stitch in it to hold it all together.

“So how come you’re ignoring me?” she asked, tilting her head.

Stiles laughed, continuing to scrub the bathtub. “Ignoring you? I’m not-”

“Let’s cut the shit Stiles, you’ve not stopped by the kitchen in three days and it’s weirding me out.”

Stiles sighed, and pulled himself out of the bath he sat down on the floor facing her with legs stretched out.  “It’s nothing you’ve done, It’s just...”

“You’d never seen a full blown grand mal seizure?” Erica asked helpfully.

“Yeah, and I know you have Epilepsy and like, I know it’s always a possibility that you could seize up, heck I’ve even heard of you having a seizure a few months ago during dinner service, but-”

“It’s different when you’re there,” Erica said, reaching out to pat Stiles shoulder. “I’m fine Stiles, really. Yeah, the seizures suck, but heck, I’m not conscious for them, I don't’ even know what they look like,’ she grinned at him.

“You looked so... _fragile,”_ Stiles breathed. “I was trying to stop you from smashing your head against something and you were bleeding on me and I could smell the piss and I didn’t know what to do.”

Erica t kept her hand on his shoulder, “Look, I’m fine, from what Derek has said, you coped surprisingly well, like my own personal batman,” she grinned at him, but it didn’t placate Stiles in the slightest.

“But you could’ve _not_ been fine!” Stiles said, expression frantic. “Like, god, I know that sentence made no sense, but what if you’d fallen and cracked your head on the counter on the way down? Or what if you have your next one in the bath; or in traffic?!” Stiles arms were flailing now, and he was aware that he was being stupid, but he couldn’t get the image of Erica convulsing on the ground out of her head. 

He allowed Erica to pull him into a hug, his arms hanging limply at his sides before he grasped her firmly around the middle while she stroked his head.

“Stiles,” she cooed. “I’m fine, look at me, absolutely fine, only one stitch, and the burns didn’t take, it barely even deserved the hospital visit really.”

“I just don’t want you going anywhere. Any of you,” Stiles mumbled into her shoulder. She smelt of chicken stock and general kitchen smell which was oddly comforting now.

“I’m not going anywhere Stilinski, have you seen me? Like I’m going to let a pesky little disability get the better of me,” she said, and Stiles could hear her grinning at him. “C’mon Batman, I’m taking you out to lunch, deal?”

It helped. 

 

**~**


	6. Our Damsel Requires New Robes

Stiles slumped out of his bed around 9 o’clock. It was Sunday; the day of rest and he personally took that very serious. 

Scott was in the kitchen, picking through laundry, when Stiles headed through, pyjama pants slung low on his hips and a sweater over his shoulders. He fell face first over the back of the couch with a groan then slid down and swivelled so he was lying on his belly, chin propped up on the arm of the couch.

Scott frowned, lifting up one of the white’s at arms length. “Dude, did you get blood on my whites?”

“What? No, I mean, I might have gotten blood on _my_ whites.”

Scott rolled his eyes, “These are mine, and I certainly didn’t get blood on the back of them.”

“Urgh, you’re always so possessive of your stuff, it’s just a pair of whites,” Stiles joked.

“Seriously, dude, what’s the blood from?”

Stiles reached up and rubbed the back of his head, small scab catching under his fingertips. “Dude, I whacked my head, no big deal.”

“What? Stiles, we’ve been through this, head wounds _are_ a big deal.”

“I barely hit it,” Stiles sighed, rolling onto his back. “It just bled so much ‘cause I caught it on the corner of the hood.”

“You hit it on the _car? Stiles._ You’ve gotta be more careful, Mom’d had’ve a fit if she heard you ignored another head wound,’ Scott said, shaking his head and tossing the whites jacket into the washer. 

“It’s a _scratch_ ,” Stiles sighed. “God, c’mon, it would’ve been a waste of everyones time if I’d gone to the ER.”

“That’s not for you to decided, dude, we talked about this,” Scott said, before the washing machine juddered to life and Scott came over and shuffled himself onto the couch on top of Stiles legs. 

“You’re heavy,” Stiles complained, pulling out his feet and laying them on Scott’s lap. 

They were quite for a minute; the noise of the TV covering any gaps in conversation. Stiles and Scott had been friends for so long anyway that they could be quiet together and it wasn’t a big deal.

“You holding up alright, dude?” Stiles asked, finally.

“Huh?”

“I mean, about the Allison thing?”

“Oh,” Scott paused. “I’m coping. She wants space, so I’m giving her space.”

Stiles tilted his head; “You broke up dude, you know that right?”

“Yeah, no… I mean, I guess I do? I just thought we had something special.”

“I know,” Stiles said, reaching over to pat Scotts knee. 

“It… it hurts dude. I didn’t know something could _hurt_ this bad when no one had died.”

Stiles shrugged, “I’d said I could sympathise but I can’t, I mean, I’m sorry? I know it sucks, but it’ll get better. Eventually.”

Scott took a deep breath. “Yeah. Sometime.”

**~**

It was hard to orchestrate group outings since they all worked in the same place, so  of them took place after midnight when everyone was finished, but occasionally they just had to have things happen during the day and not invite everyone. 

Christmas Shopping was one such occasion.

They left work at one o’clock, which meant that only one of the kitchen staff had to work until the dinner shift. Since it was the 10th of December the hotel was still emptier than a ghost town, so Stiles took himself a paperwork day where he went in at nine, checked a lot of stuff including tea tray stock levels and other the other housekeepers competency. Random room checks were important, he thought, since most people were in hotel work as a means to an end and were planning to jump ship to bigger and better things when they first got the chance; if you didn’t continually make sure that they were keeping up to standard they would slack off.

He didn’t know when he’d started caring so much about the hotel quality. 

So Boyd was working, along with Lydia and Allison. Scott and Erica were on the dinner shift so had to leave at five, but were joining them until then. 

Derek needed new jeans, and seemed incredibly unhappy about this fact. In fact, he whined about it for almost all of the drive over, until Scott punched him in the arm and Stiles and threatened to turn the car around. 

“Can go see Thor 2 while we’re there?” Erica asked as Stiles trolled around looking for a parking space. “I like his hair, he looks like what I would be like if I was a dude.

“I’ve already seen it,” Isaac whined. “Twice. Is it even still in the Cinema?”

“And?” demanded Stiles. “It should be like the last week of showing. C’mon, it’s like my favourite movie so far.”

“As evidenced by that monstrosity of a jumper, your opinion is not to be trusted,” Scott interjected, scratching his head.

“What’s wrong with my jumper?” Stiles bit back. “It’s festive. Everyone needs a festive sweater.

Scott rolled his eyes, “Everyone does not need a festive sweater, especially not one like that.”

Stiles frowned at him, he really didn’t see what was wrong with his sweater. So it was red with a dancing Christmas Tree on the front. Lydia said red suited him.

“C’mon, Derek, you’ve got my back, don’t you? Everyone needs a bad Christmas sweater, right?”

Derek snorted, “Stiles I don’t even have a regular Christmas sweater, never mind a bad one.”

“What?! That is sacrilege man, _sacrilege.”_

Derek rolled his eyes in response as Stiles finally managed to find a parking space.

“Anyway, we can’t go see Thor, we’ve got shopping to do, and you guys are working in like five hours,” Derek said in between the arguing. “C’mon, I’ve done no shopping yet and I need-”

“New jeans, yeah, we get it dude, you’ve torn holes in all your other jeans.”

If Stiles didn’t know better, he would’ve sworn that Derek had pouted. “I swear, it’s really difficult to find jeans that fit-”

“God, you’re worse than Lydia,” Stiles whined, swinging open his door. “Everyone out, let’s get this trip on the road, or off the road depending how you look at it.”

Isaac groaned at his pun. “Could you have parked any closer to the line Stiles?” Isaac demanded as he slid out of the car as carefully as he could so as not to bang the door off of the car next to them. 

“You drive next time then,” Stiles snapped, locking up before jogging to join them all. 

The shopping trip was relatively un eventful, Stiles heading into the Forbidden Planet to get most of their gifts - he would convert them to the ways of comic books if it killed him, - Erica dragged them all into some clothing store where most of the stuff was uncomfortably close to lingerie, Isaac was happy to be tugged along, claiming he’d been organised and gotten them all presents _months_ ago.

“You didn’t even _know_ us all months ago,” Stiles said, ruffling his hair. 

Isaac rolled his eyes. “Well, I got Derek’s months ago, the rest of you I picked up more recently.”

While Scott spent half an hour in the Body Shop trying to decided what soap gift set to get his mom (finally settling on Mango), Stiles ducked out to get Derek’s gift, and was back within fifteen minutes without anyone noticing. He counted that as a win. 

Derek shopping was horrendous. He dragged them into store after store trying to find new skinny jeans. Scott and Erica left around four o’clock to go get ready for work, and Isaac went with them, not even bothering to make any excuse other than ‘I can’t _deal_ with this anymore.”

“Oh my god, Derek, seriously, they can’t be that bad, c’mon out and do a turn.” Stiles said finally, after Derek had been in the changing room cubical for twenty minutes.

Derek poked his head out from behind the curtain, and glared at him. “They don’t fit.”

Stiles yanked back the curtain, sure Derek was just over exaggerating, before he realised Derek was right and the jeans _really_ didn’t fit.It wasn’t that they looked bad, but Stiles could see where the lining was straining over his calf muscles and the button or fly weren’t done up, giving Stiles an eyeful of bulging black boxer shorts. 

“So... I mean, the thighs seem to fit well,” Stiles offered, blood rising to his cheeks. 

Derek yanked the curtain back. “I’ve got the next size up but they’re all baggy on the thighs.”

“Christ, you’re right, this is harder than it looks,” Stiles said, trying not to think about Derek’s bulge in those jeans.

Stiles heard a thumping then  suddenly a crash and the entire booth wobbled slightly.

“Uh, Derek? You alright there man?”

There was no reply. 

“Derek?” Stiles asked again, before yanking open the curtains, glad they were the only two in the changing rooms. Derek was slumped in the floor, jeans tugged down and suck around his calfs, he looked furious, but was blushing liked Stiles had never seen him do before. Stiles tried to keep his eyes trained on Derek’s, to lessen his discomfort, but the urge to laugh was almost overwhelming.

“Don’t. Say. Anything.” Derek growled between gritted teeth.

Stiles held up his hands, “Not saying anything. You need a hand?”

Derek just sighed exasperatedly. “If you tell _anyone_ about this-” Derek warned, but Stiles already had two hands around the waist of his jeans and was tugging them off. 

Stiles was trying not to focus on Derek’s legs, because _damn,_ he’d never seen them before and they’re, well, perfect, muscled and covered in a layer of dark hair, and he could see the outline of his cock through the boxer shorts, and Stiles could feel his blood in an argument over wether to go straight to his face, or down to his junk.

 

**ζ**

 

“To much information, Stiles,” his dad said, exasperatedly. 

“I’m just building tension, it’s a good story telling technique,’ Stiles argued.

“The reality was not nearly so sexy,” Derek muttered, face beetroot red.

Stiles punched him in the arm, “For you maybe, I was having a _ball_ of a time. So anyway, I was trying to distract myself from _him-_ ”

 

 

**ζ**

 

He thought of that time he’d caught Jackson and Lydia having sex as he tugged off Derek’s jeans, which seemed to distract his attention, because that shit was terrifying and not even a slight turn on. 

“Christ, you need a bigger pair of jeans next time,” Stiles joked. Derek didn’t find it all that funny. 

“I’m gonna try on this last pair and then we’re done,” Derek said, pulling the curtain shut.

Stiles rolled his eyes, and headed back out into the shop. Derek needed one pair of jeans at least, so Stiles headed straight over to the baggy jeans section and picked up some slouchy pale denim pair which were rolled up at the ankles.

“Here,” Stiles said, thrusting the denim in the changing room cubical. “These should fit.”

There was a pause, “They’re baggy.”

“No shit Sherlock, they should actually fit your calfs this way.”

“Laura said that I shouldn’t wear baggy,” Derek said, tone slightly confused.

“Seriously? That’s what this entire expedition had been about? Your sister picks your clothes?!” Stiles asked incredulously. 

Derek didn’t reply.

“Well, I’ll tell you what, make sure the baggy jeans fit and then they can be a temporary pair until you can find other skinnies that fit you,” Stiles offered. 

“Okay, fine,” Derek said, before finally coming out of the changing room, clutching 8 pairs of rejected jeans in one hand and the baggy pair in the other. 

“So,” Stiles started as they headed out of the shop, Derek seemed... off slightly. Quiet compared to usual, and that was saying something. “What’s the Christmas plans?”

“Uh well, I’ll go to New York, spend it with Laura,” he said.

“That sounds fun,” Stiles offered, as they headed out of the shopping center toward the car park. 

Derek grimaced. “It’s... not, really. She insists I’m not a burden, but her and her partner are off to his parent’s house, so...”

“Ah, I get you,” Stiles said, lapsing into silence. What were you meant to say to that? They reached the car in silence, Stiles finding an angry note on his windshield about his parking ability. 

“I can drive if you want,” Derek offered, holding his hand up. Stiles flung him the keys and happily slid into the passengers seat. 

“I’m heading back to Beacon Hills,” Stiles said. “Although I’m sure Isaac told you, since Scott’s mom insisted that he come spend the Holiday’s with us when she found out he didn’t have any family left.”

“Yeah, he said,” Derek said. “Sounds like a nice holiday.”

They drove mostly in silence as well, but it didn’t seem awkward, just... nice, although Stiles found himself staring a little too much at Derek’s, watching the muscles ripple beneath the T-shit, the pale expanse of his neck as his head slumped back onto the headrest.

Stiles shook his head furiously. It was time to get over his stupid crush and move on, it was jeopardising their friendship by this point. 

Stiles heard a phone ringing, he tapped his pocket, his was silent. 

“It’s mine, it’s fine, just leave it,” Derek said. 

The phone run itself out and they were rewarded with a brief moment of silence before it started ringing again.

Derek sighed, “It must be Laura,” he said lifting his hips up to dig his phone out of his pocket and passing it to Stiles. Stiles fumbled with the phone before finally managing to hit the green call button. 

“Y’ello, Stiles speaking,” Stiles said brightly

“Stiles, nice to hear your voice!”

“Laura!” Stiles said brightly. “Same to you, how was Thanksgiving?”

Derek rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, it was nice, just me and my boyfriend, Jonathan. So, how’s Derek?” Laura asked him.

“Ugh, I took him shopping and he’s been bitching all day because he can’t find new jeans,” Stiles said, as Laura laughed. “Apparently you’ve told him to only get skinnies and with his leg muscles that is a hard ask. _”_

Laura cackled, like really, cackling was the only way to describe it. “I taught him that lesson when he was in his early twenties, to help him get laid. So is he busy or...?”

“Yeah, no, he’s driving is it important?”

“Nah, was just wanting to talk Christmas plans with him,” Laura said. “I’ll phone back later. He’s spending it with Isaac, right?”

Stiles paused, “What do you mean? He said he was spending it with you.”

Derek stiffened in the seat next to him. “Stiles-”

“Huh,” Laura said, tone clipped. “Is that right? ‘Cause I was under the impression he was spending it with Isaac.”

“No, uh, Isaac’s been adopted by Scott’s mom for the holidays,” Stiles explained. 

“Stiles, shut up!” Derek growled next to him, reaching a hand out to try and grab the phone away, but Stiles swatted at him.

“That fucker,” Laura cursed. “Right, I’m gonna go, warn Derek I’ll be talking to him later.”

She hung up on him, as Derek pulled into the side of the road. 

They were silent, before Stiles broke the silence with uncomfortable laughter, “What was that all about?”

Derek turned to him, his face dark. 

“What did you say to Laura?!” He snarled at him, face inches from his. He was really _angry_ , like angrier than Stiles had ever seen him.

“She was asking if you were spending Christmas with Isaac, which I know is a lie because he’s spending it over with the McCall-Stilinski clan.”

“So you just told her? Great, that’s just _peachy_ ,” Derek snarled, pulling back and running a hand through his hair. “Fucking hell, Stiles, Did you _have to_ go sticking your nose in?”

Stiles frowned, “Dude, I dunno what you expected me to do but-”

Derek laughed, “Oh I dunno, cover for me?! I thought we were friends!” 

“Derek, what’s the big deal?!” Stiles snapped. 

“Well, now that Laura know’s I was lying about my Christmas plans, she’ll insist I join her,” Derek said. “Join her, at Jonathan's parents and they’ll all look down at Sad-Little-Derek, twenty-nine years old and still has no one to spend the holidays with. Like they did last year. And the year before that.”

“Well what were you gonna do instead? Sit in your room by yourself? Dude, you can’t do that on Christmas!”

“It’s not like anyone was offering up their home to me!” Derek snarled. 

Stiles eyes widened, “Is _that_ what this is about?! Dude, I didn’t even think you’d want to spend Christmas with us. You’re more than welcome, we’ve got room for open more in the car.”

“I don’t need your pity,” Derek spat.

“Pity?” Stiles asked, voice cracking. “ _That’s_ what you think this is?”

“Well, what else?”

Stiles closed his eyes, and sighed. That’s all their friendship amounted to in Derek’s eyes; pity _._ Stiles didn’t know wether to be sad for Derek, or offended about it. He was so fricken’ _tired_ of being Derek’s friend, it was exhausting when Derek seemed to be making no effort.

Stiles shook his head sadly and turned to face the road. “Start the car, Derek.”

“What?”

“Start the car. I want to go home.”

**~**

 

Stiles was pretty damn surprised to see Allison at the apartment when he got home, and not really in the mood, but then neither were Scott or Allison who he had heard yelling all the way from the stairwell.

So he slumped into his room with barely a word, and Scott and Allison stopped fighting long enough for him to close the door.

He lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling, allowing the bitter yelling of his friends broken relationship to surround him.

_“All I wanted to do, Scott, was come over and get my stuff, okay?”_

_“No, it’s not okay, ‘cause I still don’t even know what_ happened _between us!”_

_“We broke up Scott, it happens to millions of people every day.”_

_“Not us,”_ Scott snarled. _“I thought we were different!”_

Stiles lay there cursing the paper thin walls; he really didn’t want to hear their break up, or all the nasty thing that were bound to come spewing out at any moment.

_“Yeah, well so did I, but you went and left Scott.”_

_“I left? You dumped me!”_

Allison paused, _“You left Argentum, you don’t get on at_ all _with my family, you didn’t come to Thanksgiving, what was I supposed to think?!”_

 _“I didn’t leave Argentum, they_ fired _me Allison, I don’t know if you realize that, but I tried with your family, it’s not my fault they seem to hate me for no good reason!”_

This was worse than the handful of times Stiles had heard his parents fight because he’d been young then, and he always knew it’d be fine at the end.

_“Just go Scott.”_

_“No, we’re not done here!”_ There was a pause. “ _Is that what you’re freaking out about? You think I’m going to leave you?!”_

 _“Well, you were,”_ Allison bit back. “ _Distancing yourself from me, skipping Thanksgiving and dinners with my parents, getting a new job-”_

 _“I got a new job because your parents_ hate _me and I don’t have the money to wait on them changing their minds, Allison, it was nothing to do with you.”_

_“Yeah, right.”_

_“I’m serious, you think if I didn’t want you around we’d be having this fight?!”_

There was a sniff from Allison.

 _“Allison, babe,”_ Scott softened _“I love you, like more than_ anything _, even if I don’t get on with your parent’s it doesn’t mean I don’t I mean it.”_

Allison didn’t reply.

_“Move in with me?” Scott said suddenly._

Wait, what?

_“What?”_

_“Move in with me! I mean, we’ve been dating for like a year now-“_

That was news to Stiles, although Scott and Allison must’ve kept their relationship secret for a while, what with Allison’s parents. Allison knew from the get goo that they wouldn’t like her dating Scott; Stiles wasn’t sure if it was just a prejudice against chefs or if it was to do with with Scott in particular but in hindsight they must’ve been dating a while before they plucked up the courage to tell her parents.

_“I don’t know, Scott, moving in together’s a big step. We just broke up.”_

_“We’re totally ready, Allison, I love you and like, if you don’t want to do this now for whatever reason then that’s fine, but you’re_ it _, y’know? I was broken without you, and I don’t want to lose you.”_

There was a pause.

_“But, what about Stiles?”_

_“That’s what you’re worrying about?”_ Scott laughed. “ _I mean I guess he can stay, there’s enough room…”_

“ _He_ can hear everything you’re saying!” Stiles yelled through the wall. He rolled his eyes and pulled himself out of bed.

Fuck, Scott wanted to move in with her. 

Scott _loved_ her, like real, _serious_ love.

He headed into the living room to see Allison and Scott standing waiting. Scott was chewing on his lip, hand through his hair looking more nervous than the time he broke one of his mom’s family heirlooms and Allison was standing, eyes red and bloodshot, terrified.

“Dude, I love the concern, but,” Stiles shrugged. “It’s fine, I’ll find somewhere to live. I mean, I hate this place anyway.”

The reaction was instant, Allison’s face breaking out in the biggest grin as Scott dipped her low for a kiss. Stiles smiled at them, ignoring the tug in his gut. They broke apart and Scott piled on Stiles for a hug, both of the boys falling to the floor laughing. “God, dude, I love you to.”

They righted themselves, and dusted off, then Allison pulled Stiles into a tight hug, burrying her nose into the nook of his neck. He squeezed her tight and smiled at Scott. 

“Guys, I’m glad you’re happy, Scott’s been pining since you’ve been gone.”

Allison grinned at him again, and Scott rolled his eyes before picking up Allison and throwing her over his shoulder. She squealed and pounded her fists on his back playfully.

“Dude, I’d recommend getting out of the apartment,” Scott said.

Stiles rolled his eyes, “I’m already leaving!”

He grabbed his jacket back, and left as quickly as he could, slamming the door loudly as Allison let out a loud groan.

He got in the Jeep and before he even realised what he’d done, he’d driven to Lydia’s place. He got out the car and headed through, pressing the buzzer. 

Lydia’s prim voice came over the intercom seconds later, “Hello, who is it?”

“Lyds, it’s Stiles, can you let me up?”

The door opened for him and he swung it open and ran up the stairs. When he hit Lydia’s floor she was already leaning against the doorway, head tilted sympathetically with a cocktail in each glass.

Stiles took the glass and walked past her down the hallway and into her living room. Jackson was in the kitchen, cooking in his underwear but Stiles paid him no attention as he slumped down onto sofa.

“God, what’s happened now,” Lydia said, sipping on her cocktail. “I saw you like seven hours ago.”

“Scott and Allison are having loud make up sex, so I had to get out the apartment.”

“Then why didn’t you go to Hale’s? Don’t give me that look, I know you two hang out more than everyone else realizes.”

“We had a fight,” Stiles finally admitted, before hollowing his cheeks out sucking on the small straws sticking out of the cocktail. “Well not a fight, a disagreement, and I don’t wanna’ talk about it, I’ve got more pressing issues.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow, “Such as?”

“I am in imminent danger of becoming homeless,” Stiles huffed, finishing the last of his cocktail and licking off the sugar dusted around the rim _._ “Scott asked Allison to move in with him and she said yes; he seemed to have some happy plan for the three of us to live together forever in that tiny apartment.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, “Of course he did, he’s Scott.” 

“Anyway, he has asked her to move in, so while she’s sorting out moving out of her parents house I’m going to have to find a new place.”

“You can live here,” Lydia said.

Stiles frowned, “I don’t think your roommate will be too chuffed about that.”

“I threw her out like a month ago; you’re moving in, no questions asked.”

Stiles nodded, dumbstruck, as Jackson perked up in the kitchen.

“ _Stilinski’s_ moving in with you?!” he spat out Stiles name like a curse. “Lyds, if you need a roommate, I can-”

“I don’t _need_ a roommate Jackson, I’ve not needed a roommate for years, I don’t know if you noticed but I get paid a _lot_ more than you. So, Stiles,” she said, turning back to him with a grin. “I can show you your room if you want? Though I’m gonna have to ask you don’t move in till after Christmas, I’ve got family coming down and I’ve offered them the space.”

“Uh, yeah, okay then, that’s fine,” Stiles said, as Lydia grabbed him by the hand and pulled him to his feet. 

He knew that Lydia would have the better room, but stepping into the spare bedroom he wondered for the first time how rich Lydia was.

“Fuck me, Lyds, _this_ is the worse bedroom?” Stiles muttered trying to take it all in.

It was huge, like the size of his current apartment huge, with a big kingsized four poster bed and mahogany furniture. The carpets, curtains, sheets and walls were pale, which contrasted with the dark wood around the room, not to mention there was a small seating area with a pale sectional sofa and table. 

“Yeah, mine has a bigger walk in wardrobe and bathroom. Not to mention it faces east to get the sunrise in the morning.” 

Stiles headed through and poked his head into the bathroom, his own bathroom, with a shower which would be tall enough for him, and probably have the best water pressure of any shower _ever_.

He let out a low whistle, “Lyds, I don’t know if I can afford this place.”

She rolled her eyes, “Stiles, I own this place, my family bought it years ago but it got neglected, so Dad said I could have it as long as I fixed it up myself.”

“Fuck...”

“I’ll charge you whatever you’re paying for that shit hole right now, how does that sound?”

Stiles nodded silently, eyes wide. 

“Good, now come join us for dinner, Jackson’s making Salmon and Lemon Risotto.”

 

**~**

 

Stiles was getting ridiculously practiced at avoiding Derek. Once or twice Erica, Isaac and Boyd tried to trick them into talking by inviting them both to the same party, but the only place they ever met up was at Stiles and Scott’s place, or Lydia’s if she was felt like rubbing in how awesome her place was. 

So Stiles didn’t go to Lydia’s, and he made sure no one invited Derek to his. 

Work was trickier, Stiles had started coming in the front door, through reception, when Derek was on a breakfast shift, which meant he had to come in half an hour earlier so that the receptionist didn’t give him in trouble for being in the public areas. Signing out at the end of his shift was harder though, as Derek _knew_ that he had to go through the office and had tried to corner him before, so Stiles shift ending times became sporadic at best, some days leaving an hour early, some days two hours late. Is total hours evened out in the end so no one _really_ cared. 

He logically knew that it couldn’t continue on forever, but he hoped that if he could just make it till December 20th when the hotel shut for Christmas, then by the time they got back it would be to busy to care and his and Derek’s tentative friendship would be nothing but a distant memory.

This dream of Stiles was made all the more difficult by the fact that now most of his friends had warmed up to Derek, including, to his horror, Scott.

“Dude, you _hated_ Derek, he stole that promotion from you, you ended up working as a _pot wash._ I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with pot washing, but you’re a _chef!”_

Scott sighed, pulling out one of the stools on the breakfast bar and sitting himself down, “Yeah, it was a dick move, but he’s been reliable lately, even he’s starting to trust me on things like menus and that. I don’t even know what’s happened between you two.”

“He’s a dick,” Stiles said stubbornly, as he cracked eggs into a mixing bowl..

Scott frowned as Stiles started to mix his eggs like they had personally wronged him, “Yeah, are you just figuring that out? He’s always been a dick. You’re kinda  a dick too, I thought that’s why you seemed to get along so well.”

Stiles looked up from whisking and glared at Scott, “You’re supposed to be on my side; I’m not a dick.”

“I’m sorry dude, but you’re like just behind Lydia in dick-dom. It goes Lydia and Derek are King and Queen then you’re the dick prince.”

“Don’t you go dissing my future wife,” Stiles said, resisting the urge to make a dirty joke, because, damn, it was too obvious and not the point of this conversation.. “I’m not a dick, Lydia’s not a dick and Derek is most definitely a dick.”

“Look, I’m not saying Lydia is not fabulous, but she also ignored you for two years and have you _heard_ her on the phone to the delivery companies?” Scott shuddered in his seat.

“She takes no prisoners, that’s what makes her fabulous,” Stiles defended, turned his back on Scott and started to make an omelet.

“Stiles, moving on from the Lydia point, you realize that you’re being a dick right now, right?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “I don’t care, I am _done_ with Derek, D-O-N-E Done.”

“You’ve not even told me what he did!” Scott yelled exasperatedly.

Stiles ignored him, sprinkling cheese onto the half cooked omelet.

Scott sighed, “Can you two not just be civil to each other if nothing else, since we all have to work together?”

Stiles plated up his omelet and turned back to Scott. He sighed and lulled his head back, “ _Fine_ , for you I guess.”

Scott grinned.

Stiles shut his eyes. “Urgh, I hate you Scott, you and your incessant need for everyone to get along.”

 

**~**

 

He didn’t make up with Derek, or talk to him at all, but he went back to his regular schedule and stopped avoiding him outright, which Scott counted as a win. 

Christmas rushed in too fast, and Allison was moving in slowly, subtly bring over things every time she stayed which served as a reminder for Stiles that he really needed to pack.

Stiles _hated_ moving; he was slightly mollified by the fact he just had to get his stuff across town and had no set date he needed to be finished by, but he was still grouchy about it. The first time when he was moving out of his dad’s house had been a nightmare of epic proportions, one which he never wanted to relive. 

So before he knew it, it was December 19th and everyone was on their last shift, the hotel mostly empty. It was one of the busiest days of the year for Stiles, he brought in all the housekeepers, sent three to clean the departures while him and the other two were left to run around deep cleaning the rooms. The shower heads had to be properly soaked and cleaned with special anti bacterial stuff to stop the spread of waterborne diseases; all the furniture needed to be moved and hovered underneath; the carpet edges had to be hovered and the skirting boards cleaned and polished; all the tea-trays in the hotel were to be emptied and the cupboards cleaned and hovered to stop the infestation of mice or bugs. 

And that was only the half of it.

So Stiles worked from 7:30 till 5:30, later than almost anyone else in the hotel. The waiting staff were off once lunch was over, and Erica was not long behind them. Scott and Derek had to hang back, ensure that all the fridges were emptied, the big freezer organized and the orders had been put through for new year, but even they left at the back of four.

So when Stiles finally traipsed down, wreaking of bleach and dust, Lydia was the only one left, sitting on the computer chair twiddling her thumbs.

“I was told to wait for you, since Scott gave you a lift here,” she informed him as he raised an eyebrow at her. “If I’d known you were gonna be so long I would’ve refused.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, loping an arm around Lydia’s shoulders as they swaggered out of the office. “You love me really, and I would’ve have been so long if you’d giving me some extra hands like I’d asked for.”

“You can’t blame me for not trusting you, a busy day for you usually is where you actually have to work as hard as everyone else,” Lydia countered, leading him out of the building, through the empty car park to Jackson’s porsche.

“Look who it is,” Stiles muttered, sliding into the backseat, before Lydia pushed the seat back and hopped in front. “You couldn’t of got a more family friendly car, could you Jackson? I mean, seriously I’ve got no room back here.”

“Fuck off, Stiles,” Jackson muttered. 

Lydia slammed the door behind her, and Stiles could see Jackson wince slightly. “Jackson, we’re going to Scott and Stiles place,”

“What?” Jackson snarled.

Stiles laughed, then stopped dead, “Wait, What?”

“Remember, we’re swapping gifts at yours,” Lydia informed them. “And you’re going to put on a different shirt.”

“What’s wrong with my shirt?” Jackson snapped.

“Not you, Jackson, Stiles,” Lydia corrected.

“Hey! What’s wrong with my shirt?” 

“I swear to god, one of these days I’m going to break into your closet and throw away all of those short sleeved plaid things you’ve got, they’re a disgrace.”

Stiles huffed and slumped back in his seat, arms crossed.

“No buts, new shirt, and throw that thing out.”

“I like it,” Stiles mumbled, mostly to himself. 

Jackson turned on the radio, most likely so he didn’t have to listen to them on the journey, and they speed to his house.

Everyone else was already there, Derek, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Scott and Allison. Stiles could see a pile of suit cases between the back of the couch and the kitchen counter. They’d obviously been waiting a long time because someone had used some of the spare boxes  Stiles had left over from placing, cut them into a Christmas tree shape and decorated them with drawings of tinsel and Christmas baubles.

“Hey!” They all called cheerily. 

“Finally,” Erica said with a customary roll of her eyes. “It’s been hellish trying to stop Scott from opening his presents.” 

Lydia sighed, “Right, Stiles, shirt off,” as she marched him by the arm past everyone.

“But, but,” Stiles whined, as Lydia pushed him past the couches and into his bedroom. 

Since Stiles was almost packed the only things left in his room were his bed, and the wardrobe, with all of his belongings either boxed up under his bed or on top of the wardrobe. The living room coffee table had been moved into his bedroom, taking up the only slither of space aside from the square foot where the door swung open, so he was forced to strip off his shirt in the view of everyone while Lydia sat on his bed and leaned into the wardrobe to find something she approved of.

“I thank god you are finally moving out of this place,” Lydia muttered to herself, before glancing back and frowning at Stiles. “Aren’t you listening? I said shirt off.”

Stiles glared, before he shrugged out of his shirt and crossed his arms defensively across his bare chest.

“Calm down Stiles, we’ve all seen you’re soul patch of chest hair,” Jackson yelled from the living room.

“Go suck a dick, Jackson! Actually, no,” Stiles changed his mind, considering how much of his time he fantasized about sucking dick, and in turn getting his own dick sucked. “Go fuck yourself.”

“That’s so much better,” Jackson yelled back. 

“You’re just jealous you can’t grow any chest hair,” Stiles yelled, as Lydia rolled her eyes and shoved a blue button down into his hands and grabbed his old plaid one off the floor.  “ _And_ , I’m moving in with your girlfriend,” he added.

“Put this on,” she ordered, pushing past him and flouncing through to the living room, as Jackson flipped him off without looking.

Stiles shrugged the shirt on over his shoulders, and headed through to the kitchen while buttoning it up, just in time to see Lydia setting fire to his old shirt.

“LYDIA, NO!” he yelled. “The fire alarm!”

She rolled her eyes, dropped the shirt into the sink, turning on the cold tap. “I’m doing you a favour, unlike that shirt.”

Stiles scowled at her, but plonked down onto the beanbag between Scott and Erica. He was still doing up his shirt when he looked up and saw Derek staring at him. He frowned.

“What, is there something on my face?” Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head, “No, nothing.”

Stiles frowned, but Scott clapped his hands excitedly, “So? Presents!”

“Oh shit,” Stiles moaned. “I forgot to wrap mine, just give me a minute!”

There was a collective groan as stiles jumped to his feet, grabbed a newspaper off of the kitchen counter. He yanked open one of the kitchen drawers and grabbed scisors and tape, then hurried into his room

His wrapping was messy yet efficient, mostly just crumpling news paper around the gifts then rolling the tape around it like string until everything stayed in place. He could hear everyone whinning so he finished as quickly as he could and hurred out of the room, arms full of presents, then dropped them uncerimoniously in the middle of the circle.

“Presents!” he grinned. 

“Let’s open Stiles gifts first,” Lydia said, sitting down on Jackson’s knee. Her own bag of presents was sitting underneath the Christmas tree, everything immaculately wrapped up with bows and ribbons. 

“But then what will I get while you’re doing that?” Stiles whined, dropping back onto the beanbag.

“The precious gift of the looks on all of our faces,” Erica grinned at him. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Fine, everyone go nuts.”

There was a scrabble as everyone tried to make out Stiles scrawling handwriting scribbled on top of the newspaper articles. 

“Is this mine or Boyd’s?” Lydia frowned, holding up a box.

“Uh, Boyd’s,” Stiles said, which got a grin from Boyd. 

Most of the gift’s he’d gotten were jokes of some sort, he’d been a bit stuck with Boyd, eventually settling on some sort of guide to surviving the Zombie Apocolypse, which he figured anyone would enjoy that. Isaac got a squirt bottle with “Scott and Allison repellant’ written on it, as well as a keychain with a Lego Darth Vader.

“I knew you could take a hint,” Lydia said as she pulled out the red pashmina and examined the label, “Correct brand and everything, very nice Stilinski.”

Stiles grinned, “Glad you like it, Lyds.”

“Dude!” Scott exclaimed, holding up the pile of ridiculous 80’s horror films. “This is _Awesome!”_

Erica was fairly happy with the Catwoman trade paper back he’d gotten her, and he’d gotten Allison some sort of new archery gear (he’d carefully checked _exactly_ what she’d needed before he’d ordered it, but Jackson was not as appreciative of his gift.

“Stiles, what is _this?”_ he asked, holding up the mug.

“What?” Stiles blinked innocently. “Everyone likes mugs.”

The mug said “Worlds #1 douchebag.” and had a picture of Jackson on the back. Stiles had gotten it made specially. 

Scott let out a pearl of laughter as Jackson put down the mug, rather carelessly next to his bag. 

There was still one parcel sitting in the middle of the circle. Stiles looked at Derek who was sitting empty handed, “Dude, that one’s for you.”

“Really?”

“‘Course,” Stiles said gruffly. “Go on, open it.”

Derek tore through the news paper and pulled out the sweater Stiles had picked out for him, holding it up by the shoulders for everyone to see..

There was a moment of silence as every absorbed the true beauty of Stiles gift, before the downright cackling kicked in. 

After Derek had informed him that he didn’t have a Christmas sweater Stiles had snuck into the ugliest vintage shop he knew of, and found this gem of a christmas sweater. 

“It’s tye-dye,” Derek said, frowning at the outstretched jumper. This elicited a fresh howl of laugher from Scott, while Jackson clutched his sides.

“Yup,” Stiles grinned happily. “It also lights up.” 

Stiles leaned over and pushed the button on the bottom hem of the jumper, sending the lights which surrounded the into a dazzling display. “I _almost_ bought you one that would’ve changed colour with your body heat, but then I saw that the Snow Man has lights behind it’s eyes which is simultaneously the most terrifying and best thing.”

Erica let out a low wolf whistle, “C’mon then, put it on, you wouldn’t want Stiles to think you didn’t like his gift would you?”

Derek sighed dramatically, and pulled the ugly sweater over his head, lights still flickering. Everyone cheered as his head poked through the neck and he rolled his eyes. 

“Thank you, Stiles, it’s lovely.”

Erica broke at that, tears streaming down her face as she clutched her sides and rolled off her seat with laughter.

They all got around to opening everyone else’s presents after that, Stiles didn’t really pay attention to what the other’s got, but he got a Batman comic from Erica (which he already had already, but didn’t admit); a fancy designer shirt from Lydia; a Nerf gun from Scott; A new comforter for his bed from Allison (he figured she must’ve had as much idea what to get him for Christmas as he had for her) and Boyd and Isaac went in together on a fancy new cooking book for him.

Derek dolled out his gifts last. His wrapping was neat and tidy, almost as tidy as Lydia’s, but without the bows. Stiles eagerly tore off the wrapping paper, revealing a toy Thor’s Hammer.

The packaging claimed that the hammer glowed and made sounds. Stiles grinned.

“Seriously dude? This is AWESOME!” Stiles said, pulling apart the packaging to get at the hammer. He swung it around, whacking it into Scott, but the head was made of nerf foam, so Scott just rolled his eyes.

“Well, I hate to break up this touching display of immaturity,” Jackson said, looking at Stiles. Stiles tuck out his tongue. “ _But_ I got us a group present. I’m getting you all high.”

 

**ζ**

 

“Stiles I am your father and an _enforcer of the law,_ are you seriously telling me that you and your friends were all _high_ yesterday?”

“Uh, high on... on _life,”_ Stiles laughed nervously, as his dads head slumped down onto the table and he let out a moan. 

“God, why did I even _ask_ about this?”

“So yeah,” Stiles said. “As I was saying, Jackson was gonna get everyone hi- _per. Hyper._ On Sugar. From the pop rocks we were eating-”

 

**ζ**

 

Jackson pulled plastic bag full of pop rocks out of his jacket pocket, as everyone’s face lit up. “I’ll roll the first one.”

After Scott and pulled the batteries out of the smoke alarm the first packet of pop rocks was opened, and Jackson took the first mouthful before passing it over to Derek. He then got another packet of pop rocks and passed it over to Lydia, so there was two packets. 

Stiles tilted his head to the side, but a blunt was pushed into his hand so he inhale deeply. 

Stiles loved pop rocks, just loved it, everyone got so damn _happy_ on it, Even Erica was laughing, head thrown back and eyes hazy. 

“So you’re good with pop rocks then?” Stiles asked her as he handed the packet over. 

She took a big mouthful, pausing for a moment before opening her mouth back up letting the crackle sound free. “No one’s all to sure, considering it’s illegality it’s not on the instructions for my meds.”

She slumped back in her chair grinning as she passed along the packet to Boyd. “I mean, I read up on internet, some people it makes their seizures worse, some it makes theirs better, so I don’t make a habit of it.”

 

 

**ζ**

 

“Stiles, this is by far the _worst_ lie ever.”

“Shh, Dad, we’re almost done,” Stiles lied.

 

**ζ**

 

Stiles nodded, as she got up and swung over to the couch, landing on Boyd.

By the time the next packet came around (Lydia tapped out the previous one with three gulps to catch up) Scott was up and in the kitchen trying to cook. 

Stiles said trying, because he was pretty damn _hyper_ and Stiles couldn’t be sure about how successful he was gonna be. He might have just eaten all the raw ingredients.

Lydia made them all play a variation of truth or dare where they didn’t actually have to move all that much, and it involved flipping a coin and spinning a bottle for some reason; Stiles wasn’t too sure of the rules but when his turn came around he just passed on the sweets, flipped the coin and let Lydia dictate to him what he needed to do. 

“Hmmm... Switch clothes with Allison,” she decided. 

Stiles frowned. “What?”

“Switch clothes with Allison, you should be able to fit that dress,” Lydia insisted.

“Hey!” Allison yelled indignantly.

“Only ‘cause he’s skinny, and that dress is baggy.”

“I totally can’t fit Allison’s clothes,” Stiles argued.

“Then try and see,” Lydia said primly. “In here. Make a show of it.”

Stiles huffed and then got to his feet, Allison following his example. He shrugged out of his shirt and jeans, and Allison reached down, pulling her dress over her head, leaving them both standing in their underwear, Allison in a plain black bra and panties; Stiles in  Superman boxers. Stiles had hoped they would all have been adult and turned away politely, but the universe wasn’t that kind. Scott was leaning across the island countertop, gaze adoringly fixated on Allison’s chest, while everyone else seemed to just be trying to get assess the both of them.

“So,” Stiles said awkwardly. “Looking good Allison, have you been working out?”

She laughed, handing over her dress, before flexing her biceps at him. She pulled on his jeans first then the shirt afterwards. Her hips were maybe a bit bigger than his, but she managed to get the button done up.

Stiles pulled the dress over his head, the shoulders were the most difficult part and he was most defiantly going to need help getting it back off again, but it slid on without to much bother, probably because, as Lydia had said, he was skinny and Allison was tall.

When his head resurfaced Allison had his shirt buttoned and the bottom of his jeans rolled up, and was sitting back down at the circle smiling.

Erica wolf whistled at him as he tried to discretely sit down on the beanbag, but judging by the look on Derek and Isaac’s faces, he most definitely had flashed his crotch at them.

“Ha freakin’ ha, I’ll have you guys know I am rocking this dress,” Stiles said defiantly. 

“Food’s up!” Scott called from the kitchen.

Erica threw herself off of Boyd and over the back of the sofa. She stumbled on the suitcases but managed to use her momentum to twist around and land back on her feet at the kitchen countertop. 

The rest of them stood dumbfounded, Scott however grinned. “It’s meatballs, guys, I hope you like it.”

Completely understanding her reaction, the rest of them followed Erica’s example after that, taring over one another to reach the kitchen counter. Scott’s meatballs were _ridiculously_ good. 

Stiles decided to serve up for everyone and reached over and grabbed the serving spoon from Erica. He was spooning a big scoop of sauce into one of the bowls when Scott came up behind him, wrapping his hands around his waist and nuzzling into his neck.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but what’re you doing there, Scott?” Stiles asked, passing the bowl onto Allison, who was the next person in line. 

“The dress, is working for me,” he laughed, poking his tongue out and letting go to ruffle Stiles hair. “Seriously, you wanna try making out for a second? Just to see how it feels?”

Stiles laughed and passed him a bowl of meatballs, and he bounced off to join Allison on the couch.

The rest of the night went well, everyone laughing and joking like they hadn’t done in a long time, until everyone eventually curled up up on the sofa and floor space because they were all too hyper to drive. Allison and Scott stayed in Scott’s room, with Erica and Boyd on his floor. Stiles crawled into his bed, and was joined by Isaac before long who complained that Jackson and Lydia were having sex on the beanbag.

“Urgh, go get Derek, we’ll put him on the coffee table,” Stiles said.

Isaac left the room, briefly before retuning clutching Derek and a couple of blankets. The coffee table wasn’t much shorter than a bed anyway, just a bit narrower, so they pushed it up against Stiles single, laid out a duvet on top of it, and then the three of them crushed in, Stiles facing the wall with Isaac in between him and Derek.


	7. And They All Lived Happily Ever After

John let out a sigh and looked at them both, shoulders slumped. “Really Stiles?”

“What?”

“Nothing important even happened there! Why did you have to tell me that bit with the drugs? I’m pretty sure I’m honor bound to report you” he pinched his brow.

“What? That we ate a load of pop rocks? Yeah, it’s a little weird, but-”

“Stiles,” his dad warned. “This story better be wrapping up.”

“Yeah, last part, I promise. So, the next morning-”

 

**η**

 

Stiles groaned, wincing as his alarm clock bleeped away across the room. It was all together _way_ too early in the day and he could feel the strain in his muscles from sleeping awkwardly pressed against the wall. 

He sat up in his bed, surveying his room.  Isaac had star fished out on his back, with his arm over Stiles waist and one leg flung over Derek, who had curled into a little ball and was drooling on his pillow. It would’ve been adorable if Stiles wasn’t still kinda mad at Derek.

He shoved Isaacs shoulder to wake him up and pulled himself out of his bed. 

Stiles stumbled through into the living room, Erica and Boyd were up and making out in the kitchen, while Jackson and Lydia slept soundly on the beanbag all wrapped up in each other, twisted in the blankes.

“You better have enough coffee for me,” Stiles grumbled, banging on Scott’s bedroom door loudly as he passed. 

“Of course,” Erica smiled at him, putting a mug down on the island countertop in front of him. Stiles slid up into one of the stools, and picked up the stereo remote, hitting the power on and the volume up as high as it would go.

There was a resounding chorus of whines from all around, and a stream of curses from Jackson. Stiles bobbed his head happily to _Ok Go_ as Erica laughed and put cereal and bowls down on the countertop

 _“TURN THAT OFF STILINSKI, I’VE GOT THE HEADACHE FROM HELL!”_ Jackson roared.

Stiles ignored him, as he started to eat his cereal.

He heard the groggy moans and shuffling feet of his friends pulling themselves out of bed. Scott’s door swung open, and out he and Allison tumbled, giggling and all wrapped up in one another. Stiles rolled his eyes. “God you guys, we don’t really have time for you to shower!”

“Tell me about it,” Erica snapped. “Fuck, those two are loud.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Yeah, Dude the walls here are like _ridiculously_ thin, I _know.”_

Allison giggled and Scott looked at her with the utmost adoration upon his face. Stiles fake vomited.

Allison rolled her eyes at Stiles and pushed up onto her tiptoes and pressed a kiss against Scott’s cheek. “I’ll be quick, promise.”

“Okay,” Scott smiled back, leaning forward to kiss her back.

Stiles was vaguely concerned that they were gonna start rubbing noses together.

“Oh my god, I’d say get a room, but you’d take it literally and then we wouldn’t be able to leave for two hours,” Stiles moaned as he slumped his head down onto the kitchen counter.

He heard Scott sigh, and slide into the seat next to him, quiet and content.

Stiles sniffed the air. “I take back what I said, we totally have time for you guys to shower. _Please_ shower.”

Scott was in Allison-Land™ though, and paid him no attention.

Lydia and Jackson were surfacing, and Jackson immediately turned off the music once he managed to stand up. 

“Well, we’d love to stay for breakfast, but we’ve got to make sure the apartment’s ready for the family arriving, it’s a busy day and all that,” Lydia said primly, sounding much less tired than she looked. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, “You don’t have to lie, we know you want to go and shower in your big fancy apartment.”

“And what’s wrong with that? When you move in you’re going to love the fancy shower. Not to mention, having a bedroom that’s not an old converted wardrobe.”

Erica grinned, crossing her arms across her chest, “I love that Stiles is moving in with Lydia. If I could get that shit in sitcom form I’d watch the hell out of it.”

“Glad to see my daily life is such an amusement to you Erica,” Stiles said, as he pulled Lydia into a hug. She hugged him back tightly and pulled back with a kiss on the cheek. 

“You’ll get your present when you move in,” Lydia informed him before moving to hug everyone else goodbye. 

As they left they could hear Jackson whining about some rich-kid-problems.

“God, I don’t get those two,” Erica said.

Stiles shrugged, “Underneath all the anger and hate I think they genuinely care about each other, I mean, that’s the only reasoning I can think of for why they seem to work.”

“Why who seem to work?”

Stiles turned to see Allison coming out the bathroom, wearing a pair of sweat pants and drying her hair off with a towel. 

“Jackson and Lydia,” Erica answered. “They seem to hate each other almost all the time.”

Alison hopped up on the breakfast stool next to Scott and poured herself some cereal as Stiles looked around the room. “Are those two still not up?”

“Who?”

“Santa and his elves,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Who d’you think?”

“I’ll open the door,” Scott said, getting to his feet and heading around the corner to Stiles room. 

Stiles could hear him yelling at Isaac and Derek to get out of bed, before he headed back through into the bathroom to get a shower. 

Isaac and Derek padded through shortly after, Isaac looking adorably sleep ruffled and Derek looking hotter and grumpier than ever. 

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauties,” Erica called, leaning across the counter on her forearms. She tilted her head and grinned, “You two look like you were _busy_ last night.”

Isaac’s eyes flew open at that, shaking his head and hands in tandem. “No! No! God, no! I couldn’t sleep because Stiles sleep talks.”

Boyd barked out a laugh, and Stiles rolled his eyes but turned to face the two of them. “What was I saying last night?” Stiles grinned.

Isaac  blushed, and Derek just muttered something incomprehensible.

“What was that?” Erica asked, sweetly.

Derek sighed dramatically, pulling up the recently vacated stool next to Stiles, “I said, I’m surprised Stiles didn’t end up with sticky pyjama pants, what with the stuff he came out with last night.”

Erica howled with laughter, as Stiles blushed beetroot. 

“God, guys, what a guy may or may not do in the privacy of his own sleep is _none_ of your business, and it was out of the good of my heart that I let you both stay in my room so you didn’t have to listen to Jackson and Lydia have sex,” Stiles said, before blowing a raspberry at Derek.

“Well,” Erica said, before swigging the last of her cup of coffee. “Not that this isn’t _fascinating,_ butBoyd and I have a _lot_ of miles to cover today, so we’re gonna have get going.”

She moved around the counter and pulled Stiles into a tight hug, before pulling back slightly and pinching his cheek. 

“Now you behave yourself mister,” she grinned at him, and Stiles kissed her on the cheek.

“Have a fucking awesome Christmas, Erica.” 

She let go of him to hug Allison, Derek and Isaac goodbye, and suddenly Boyd had him in a swift hug as well. 

“Take care of yourself, Stiles,” Boyd said, clapping his back and letting go almost as suddenly as he’d grabbed on.

“Uh, yeah, you too.”

They waved and yelled on their way out, Erica stealing his Christmas hat he had hanging on one of the coat hooks by the door on the way.

When Scott stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, they all realised they’d forgotten about him. Scott ran down the staircase in nothing but his towel yelling on them to wait. He managed to catch them but his hug with Boyd was cut short by the inappropriate comments Erica yelled at them.

Derek seemed oddly unhurried to leave and since Scott was perpetually disorganised, he still had to pack up his bags, he Stiles, Allison and Isaac had breakfast in the kitchen. Derek prepared omelettes out of the fridge left overs while Scott frantically ran around the apartment trying to find all of his stuff.

Finally 10 o’clock rolled around, and Stiles said that he’d had enough with Scott’s panicking and they were leaving whether he was ready or not. Stiles quickly pulled on some sweat pants (comfier for driving all day) and dragged his rucksack to stand by the door. Allison switched off the cooker and the TV at the walls, and joined him, before finally Scott wheeled up his suitcase with a smile on his face.

“Right, I’ve got everything I think.”

“Toothbrush?” Stiles asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Fuck,” Scott muttered, dashing back into the bathroom.

Derek poked his head out from the kitchen, dish towel in hand. “That’s that all sorted.”

Stiles grunted as Scott ran out the bathroom toothbrush in hand, before throwing his coat around his shoulders.

“All ready? Right, let’s go,” Stiles said, herding them all out of the flat. He turned back to see Derek looking hesitantly at him. “That means you too, I mean I could lock you in here, but there’s definitely not enough food to last a week.

“Uh, is there anyway I can talk to you?”

“Now?” Stiles snapped. “I’m just out the door Derek.”

“Well you’ve not spoken to me in like 10 days so...”

Allison coughed, “Stiles? Pass me the Jeep keys and we’ll get everything loaded up, how does that sound?”

“Fine,” Stiles threw the keys to her, keeping a hold on his actual apartment keys. Isaac grabbed hold of his suitcase and the three of them rushed out, thundering down the stairwell while the sound of their bickering echoed up the stairs.

He turned back to Derek, who looked... _nervous._ God, what was up with him?

They were quiet for a moment, before Stiles folded his arms across his chest and said; “So, what do you wanna talk about? The weather, or-“

“Stiles, what _happened_ between us the other day?” Derek forced out.

So he was gonna get straight into it then. Stiles sighed. “The other day when you flipped out at me ‘cause of the whole christmas thing? Or the talk we had at work? I don’t know, I guess I’m… I’m fuckin’ _tired_ Derek. I’m tired of trying to understand what the hell is going on in that head of yours and every time I feel like we’re getting close you go and push me away again. It’s driving me nuts!” 

Stiles tried to meet his eyes, but Derek kept his firmly trained on his shoes.

“I mean, you seemed to think I wanted to hang out with you because I _pitied_ you!”

“Yeah, well why else?” Derek snapped. “It’d obvious now that you don’t care to much for me.”

Stiles groaned, pulling at his hair, “That’s not what _this_ is, Derek. I _liked_ you, I mean, I still do, kinda, but like… Letting people in isn’t a _flaw_ , Derek, I know it can hurt sometimes-”

“Hurt?” Derek snarled at him, head snapping up and his shoulders tense. “Fuck, Stiles, Hurts one word for it, you know, considering last time I let someone in they _burned my family alive for money.”_

They were quiet for a moment, the anger of the fight evaporating almost instantaneously, when Stiles, ignoring his better instincts of self preservation, reached over and stroked his shoulder. “I know, but dude I need you to _try_ , I need you to give me something, _anything_ really, just make an effort y’know _.”_

Derek stayed quiet. 

“Come with me?” Stiles finally asked, surprising even himself. He didn’t know why he asked, unsure if it to fix them; if he wanted Derek to come to Christmas; or if he just wanted  a way to stop the silence, but whatever he was aiming for it wasn’t the look of sheer confusion on Derek’s face.

“What?” Derek asked, voice cracking slightly.

“Come, y’know, spend Christmas with me? We’ve got room and shit, and you were just complaining about having to go spend it with Jonathan's parents.”

Derek’s shoulders slumped, and he looked back to the floor, “Stiles, I can’t-

Stiles shook his head, “Fine, you know what, it’s _fine_.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “I just, I can’t deal with this Derek, whatever _this_ , is I’ve gotta go,” Stiles dragged a hand through his hair. “Christmas and all that. You are going to visit Laura, yeah?”

Derek nodded stiffly, following Stiles from the apartment. Stiles flicked off the last light and closed the door.

“You need a lift or anything?” Stiles offered, but Derek just shook his head, still not looking Stiles in the eye as he shoved his hand deep into his pockets. 

“No, I don’t need anything,” Derek said quietly, turning and heading off quickly down the stairs before Stiles could even lock his front door.

 

**~**

The trip back to Beacon Hills was quiet. Scott and Allison were huddled up in the backseat happily sucking face, as Isaac flicked through the road trip playlist with dismay at the track choices, until Stiles finally smacked his hand and told him to fucking leave it.

It kinda sucked that his and Scott’s bonding road trip was gatecrashed, which just served to remind him that Scott was moving in with Allison, and that probably meant that he and Scott wouldn’t get another road trip alone between the two of them, ‘cause yeah, Scott was only 23 years old, but heck he and Allison seemed like they could go the distance, and soon they’d probably end up getting a minivan and driving down to Beacon Hills with their 2.4 children themselves, and then Stiles would have to drive down alone, with his and Scott’s old mix tape, because no one was _ever_ gonna want to spend holidays, never mind their _life_ , with him. 

Okay, he was being melodramatic, but still, it was marking the end of an era. Stiles just wished he could go back to that last trip back from Beacon Hills when it was just him and Scott. 

“You alright there, kiddo?” His dad asked him later, frowning across the dinner table at him.

“Just peachy,” Stiles muttered, stabbing a bit of broccoli with particular vehemence. 

Sheriff John Stilinski sighed, and leaned back in his seat. “What is it now? Is it Scott and Allison?”

Stiles frowned at him, “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, kid, you and Scott have always been joined at the hip, and this is the first Christmas he’s brought a girl home, so yeah, it’s that obvious.”

Stiles sighed and slumped down in his chair. “It’s just that Scott and Allison are getting so _serious_ , and like, I get it, she’s the love of his life and everything, and I _know_ it’s not going to affect our friendship or anything, but-”

“But?” the Sheriff prompted.

“But, like, there goes our road trips, I mean, the entire way down here Scott was making out in the backseat and Isaac was whining so much about the music, and the music’s _tradition_ , you know?”

His dad nodded at him, a sympathetic look on his face. 

“And, like, she’s moving in! Allison’s going to move in, and my rooms going to become a closet, or an office, or something.”

“You hate that room,” his dad countered.

“Yeah, but I like _Scott,”_ Stiles whined. “And I know I’m gonna move in with Lydia, and yeah,  generally Lydia’s an awesome person, who’s only 50% evil, maybe 60% on a bad day, and her apartment is _incredible_ , and now that I’m head of housekeeping I’m actually making decent enough money, which is almost probably down to Lydia, since she controls all that sort of stuff, but she’s no _Scott_.”

Stiles paused, and took a bite out of his celery stick, before adding; “ _And_ I’m probably gonna see Jackson naked,” Stiles finished and let out a whine and lay his forehead down on the table.

There was silence before his dad let out a sigh and patted him on the shoulder. 

“I don’t even know who Jackson is and why you’re gonna see him naked, and I don’t want to, but Stiles it’s gonna be alright.”

Stiles lifted his head up and rested his chin on his hands. “You’ve got to say that, you’re my dad.”

“Yeah, and I know it’s a lotta’ change, kid, you and Scott, well you’ve always been _youandScott_ , but Allison’s not gonna change that, it’s just a part of growing up.”

Silence fell on the table, as his dad poured out another whiskey. Stiles felt immature at best, and selfish at worst, but he didn’t know how to stop it.

“There’s no,” his dad hesitated. “There’s not an ‘Allison’ for you, is there? That crush of yours back at Thanksgiving didn’t work out at all did it?”

Stiles shook his head sadly, “No, there’s no one for me right now.” He sat up, yawning and stretching out his back, “Thanks for dinner, Dad, I’m gonna go to bed, I was up late last night.”

His dad smiled sadly at him, “Well, kid, you know where I am if you wanna talk. I’ll get the dishes tonight, but just don’t make a habit of it. 

Stiles nodded, and patted his dad on the shoulder as he moved past and headed up the stairs to his childhood bedroom. 

He barely had the energy in him to pull off his jeans before falling into bed and worming underneath the sheets, then, with the flick of the lamp switch, he fell sound asleep.

 

~

 

Stiles woke up late, light streaming in through the window as he’d forgotten all about closing his curtains when he’d fallen into bed and his phone was sitting on the bedside table flashing red and begging for his attention.

It was already 11 o’clock, he must’ve slept for over 12 hours. He’d gotten a text from Scott, inviting him out Ice Skating at 9:02, then another 9:34, asking him where he was. There was a missed call at 10:09am and finally a text at 10:21 telling him that he was too late and they’d left without him. 

Stiles rolled over and pulled the duvet over his head, he was the kind of tired that only came from over indulging in sleep, so he made himself get up, padding downstairs to find a note on the counter from his dad informing him he would be at work till later in the afternoon, and letting him know he could help himself to any food he wanted.

Stiles pulled out the milk, drinking straight from the carton as he switched on the radio, and suddenly there was bouncy pop music from the eighties filling up the kitchen. 

He danced and sung to himself while he prepared a cheese toasty, getting sidetracked half way to clean underneath the dish rack.

His dad’s kitchen was like a fake designer purse, fine in passing but you started to notice the cracks when you looked at it too close. It’s not like Stiles blamed his dad or anything; he was the _Sheriff_ , that was a busy job so it wasn’t like he had the time or energy to deep clean his kitchen every few months like it needed.

Stiles sighed, catching sight of a splatter of mayonnaise on the side of the fridge that had to be at least a few days old and had crusted over. 

So he grabbed a bucket and the strongest cleaning supplies he could find under the sink and got to work. The first move was to pull out the fridge, which revealed a disgusting amount of grot down the side of the counter which accumulated from trapped spills of food, so he sprayed it down with some harsh bleach based product, before sweeping up the floor underneath.

He hauled himself up on top of the countertops next, deciding to tackle the grease on top of the cupboards. Stiles suspected that the last time someone had cleaned up there was two Thanksgivings previous to the last, when Stiles had been home for three weeks, and had gotten incredibly bored in that time. 

The tops of the cupboards were always deceptively gross, no matter who’s home you were in, they were often forgotten and the grease from cooking tended to catch there. Stiles had finally managed to persuade his dad to stop storing stuff up there after they’d had to throw out an entire box of new glasses his dad had left up there for a few weeks, that had gotten coated in such a thick layer of grease Stiles couldn’t even get it off.

So It was fairly simple to clear down the cupboard tops, as well, spraying the heavy industrial stuff all over and giving it a quick wipe down with the cloth to ensure it had spread everywhere.

He emptied out the cupboards, the freezer, the fridge, binning anything he was sure he’d seen during his Thanksgiving visit, before cleaning them all throughly. There must have been something wrong with him because cleaning had become his most effective stress relief, better than running, and his own place was immaculate so finally getting to _scrub_ after all the drama and stress that had been going on between him and Derek? Yeah, that felt good. 

Finally, at around four thirty, Stiles was finished. He had organised the fridge and freezer and cleaned them inside and out; he’d sorted, washed and reorganised the cupboards and scrubbed the tops of the cupboards until they were sparkling; he’d taken apart and cleaned the extractor fan and he’d scrubbed the oven and grill till they shone. 

He felt like the kitchen was cleaner than when they’d moved in.

Stiles sighed, and headed back upstairs, trudging into the bathroom, stinking of bleach and burnt food, but generally happy and not at all restless.

He stripped off his clothes, throwing them into the laundry basket before ducking into the hot shower. The water pressure at his dad’s place was _amazing_ , although anything could be considered amazing if you compared it to the water pressure at his apartment. He scrubbed at his scalp, used a  heaping pile of body soap on himself before switching off the water and grabbing a towel to dry off.

He towelled the worst off of his hair and chest, before tucking the towel around his waist and padding back out across the hall to his room. Stiles couldn’t find the energy to put on clothes; he didn’t particularly _want_ to either. Sitting around naked sounded so much comfier. 

So he slumped down onto his bed, towel around his waist with a smile on his face when he felt his phone buzzing against his back. He reached a hand underneath his ass, and pulled it free to see Derek was calling him.

He frowned at the screen while his stomach churned, before he took a deep breath and answered.

“Derek! What are you calling for?” He asked, not really sure how to phrase it. The problem was that he didn’t even _know_ what his feelings towards Derek were anymore.

He had been in a constant state of flux since back in October when Derek had shown back up in his life. Christ, the guys wasn’t just hot, he genuinely seemed funny and weirdly adorable when he was hungover, and the way he looked at him sometimes...

Well it was all just confusing.

“Stiles, I’m downstairs.”

“What?”

“I’m downstairs,’ Derek repeated.

“No, I heard what you said, I just didn’t understand you,” Stiles said, sitting bolt upright. “You’re downstairs _where?”_

“Downstairs as in on your doorstep right now.”

“What?!” Stiles yelled. “How!? Wait, why do you know where I live? No don’t answer that, the answer will be creepier than I could imagine myself.”

“Stiles, can I come in?” Derek asked. 

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles stammered. “Door’s open, c’mon up.”

Stiles got to his feet, keeping one hand around his towel as he padded out onto the landing and turned to see Derek staring up at him from the bottom of the stairs.

His mouth went slightly dry, and Derek seemed frozen to the spot, staring up at him blankly 

‘What are you _doing_ here?” Stiles asked, incredulously. 

This seemed to shake Derek out of his shock and he blinked, before he bounded up the stairs two at a time, pulled Stiles into his arms and _kissed_ him. Hard. 

It was _so_ much better than any kiss Stiles could remember; it blew all the other kisses out of the water; It was like the shark of kisses.

“Shark?” Derek muttered against his lips, breath hot against his face, making Stiles realise he’d been talking out loud.

“They’re like the best of the fish dude, just go with it,” Stiles muttered back, leaning forward to kiss him again.

Derek was pushing him backwards, and they slammed into the wall with a _bang_ which seemed to shake the house or at least it felt that way to him. Derek’s hands were on his hips, his thigh had worked it’s way in between Stiles legs, and he was grinding against him, erection pushing into Stiles hip _._  

Stiles tipped his head back and Derek started kissing a trail down his jaw, his neck and across his to the hollow of his collarbone. Derek decided then to suck, _hard,_ and, _fuck_ , the heat flaring through him was something else.

“Fuck, Derek _,”_ Stiles moaned, breathlessly. “What are you even doing here?”

Derek continued to nip down Stiles neck and back up to his ear, sucking hard on his ear lobe.  “I’m making an effort, I came here for Christmas,” he said, moving back to capture Stiles lips. 

Stiles grabbed Derek by his belt loops. “Bedroom. Now.”

They backed into Stiles bedroom, collapsing on the small single bed. Stiles flipped over so he was on top, and dragged his hands down, snaking them under Derek’s shirt. He spread his legs slightly and almost laughed with the realisation that he was in just his towel

Stiles cut him off lunging mouth using both hands to drag Derek’s face to his. Their teeth clashed together painfully, leaving them both laughing as Derek pushed Stiles down onto his back, pushing his thigh between Stiles legs, and _fuck_ , Stiles was still only in a towel, and he was _hard_ , grinding up against Derek’s hip as he pushed Derek’s shirt up and ran a hand up the muscles of his back. 

“Shirt. _Off._ ” Stiles muttered against Derek’s lips, tugging on the helm of the black T-shirt. 

Derek sat back on his heels, causing Stiles to whine and make grabby hands towards him. “Nooooooo,” Stiles moaned, but he was silenced by Derek pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it across the room. “Okay, no actually that’s good.”

Derek smirked at him, “Do you want to make out some more or do you just want to stare at my abs?”

Stiles reached out and ran a hand over his stomach. “I’d like to touch them too, I mean _look_ at them-”

Derek rolled his eyes, and leaned back down, kissing Stiles hard as his hands towards Stiles waist. He ground against him causing the friction between Stiles towel and Derek’s jeans that make him see stars. Fuck. 

“God, no this is better,” Stiles muttered as Derek bit his lip, tongue licking and pressing gently into Stiles mouth, and it was all so _hot,_ he’d never made out with someone when it’d been so _hot_ before.

“Let’s just do this, forever, okay?” Stiles muttered as Derek started to kiss along his jaw, the stubble rubbed against his skin delightfully, causing Stiles hips to jerk upwards towards Derek’s again. “I mean, take off your jeans and I’ll be perfectly content to just stay here and starve.”

Derek hummed into his skin.

“I’m taking your silence as a confirmation that we can just keep doing this for the rest of our days,” Stiles said breathlessly, head tipped back against the pillow. 

Derek bit down on his shoulder and Stiles gasped. “Fuck, okay, pants off, _now_.”

Stiles tried to take off Derek’s belt, but so did Derek, which lead to some awkward fumbling before Derek finally pulled off and stood up, pushing his jeans off as quickly as he could, before diving back on top of Stiles.

Stiles let out a moan as Derek pushed against him again, running his hand up Stiles chest to gently twist his nipple.

And then suddenly his bedroom door was being flung open and his dad was there; “Stiles, did you- _whoa, god, no.”_

The door was slammed shut, and the mortification was instantaneous, re-routing all the blood from his dick up to his cheeks. He buried his face in Derek’s neck as Derek started to laugh.

“Oh fuck,” he said, still laughing. “I’ve not had anyone walk in on me since I was 17 years old.”

Stiles blushed. “Well, we should probably head downstairs, y’know, talk to my dad. He’s probably not to happy with me keeping secrets from him.”

 

 

**η**

 

“And then we came downstairs, and now we’re here!” Stiles said, seeming incapable of keeping in his grin, and he kept stealing little looks at Derek. It was sickeningly cute, John had to admit.

John pinched his brow and sighed, glancing at the clock. “Stiles, that story took two and a half hours.”

Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles who waved it off. 

“Like I said, ours is an epic tale-”

“There was so much of that story I didn’t need to know,” John lamented sadly.

“So! As you can see, Derek here, emotionally stunted, maybe, but definitely a sound guy.”

“Stiles,” his dad warned, before sighing deeply. “Christ, fine, he can stay for Christmas, and I regret ever asking you who he was, and what was happening.”

Stiles punched the air, grinning from ear to ear as Derek gave him a relieved smile. “Thanks, sir.”

“John, my name’s John,” he said weakly. “Now I’m going over to the McCall’s because I _know_ you Stiles and I’m sure that if I said ‘not-while-you’re-under-my-roof’ then you’d just somehow make an argument that it’s not really my roof. You are not to say a word about it.”

“Why are you going to the McCalls?” Stiles asked, head tilted curiously.

John got to his feet, and mimed zipping his lip. “Not one word. I’ll be back by midnight, okay? Set an alarm or something, If I see or hear anything you’ll both be out on your asses, I don’t care that it’s Christmas.”

Derek was wide eyed and bright red, but Stiles just had him by the hand and was pulling him toward the doorway grinning. 

“Thanks Dad, I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Midnight, Stiles,” John repeated, shrugging on his jacket. 

Stiles grinned and waved as John turned and headed out the door and down the drive. He put a hand on the car door handle, and turned back to look at the two boys standing in the doorway. 

Stiles was waving and staring happily back at him, chin high and a grin on his face that the Sheriff hadn’t seen in a long time, while Derek...

Well, Derek was just staring at Stiles, with this smile which seemed to be tugging involuntarily at the corners of his mouth, hand gripping Stiles’s hard. 

John got in his cruiser and sighed as he pulled out the driveway. Derek might not have been everything the Sheriff was hoping for when Stiles finally brought someone home for Christmas, but the boy certainly seemed to care about him, and John couldn’t really argue with that.

He made the mistake of looking in his rear view mirror as he pulled away, just in time to see Stiles jump onto Derek, legs wrapping around his waist before Derek carried him back into the house.

John sighed and turned away towards the McCall household, he couldn’t wait to see Melissa’s face when he told her the -abridged- story.

**~**

 

**End.**

[   
](http://officerstilinskihale.tumblr.com)

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this far, I hope you enjoyed the fic :)
> 
> With regards to Erica's Epilepsy, while I do have people close to me with Epilepsy and I have dealt with a seizure before, I do not have epilepsy myself and if anyone notices anything wrong with what I've written about it, then please do.
> 
> A thank you goes out to [officerstilinskihale](http://officerstilinskihale.tumblr.com) for beta-ing the last few chapters there. And thank you all for the comments/kudos/bookmarks ^_^
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://captainscruffywolf.tumblr.com).
> 
> (Edit 9/08/13 - Authors notes removed to clean up fic/continuity error removed regarding Stiles not knowing what Derek's car looked like after he had already had a lift home from him)


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